


View from the Stars

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bottom Harry, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Space Stations, THE SLOWEST BURN TBH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’ve never been in here before,” Harry says. He’d meant it to be a question. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“No,” Zayn agrees. “It’s intuitive, though. Know my way around a spacecraft.” </i></p><p>  <i>Harry snorts. “This is hardly a space craft.” He doesn’t like to toot his own horn or anything, but a space station and a space ship are entirely different things. Entirely. A space station is much more complicated, first of all. “Bit more complex than that.” </i></p><p>  <i>Zayn glances over at him. He looks infuriatingly passive still, but also sort of...not. A little challenging. Like he wants Harry to prove it, which is ridiculous because anyone with any common sense knows that a station’s bigger than a ship and much more involved to design -- Right. This has to stop.</i></p><p> </p><p>Or, Harry's the head engineer of a new space station and Zayn's the future pilot. Harry doesn't have a crush. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	View from the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterfallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfallen/gifts).



> waterfallen, I hope you like this! your first prompt immediately jumped out at me and I knew i had to write it. this has been a LABOR OF LOVE and would not have happened without my beta, K, and my friend A, both of whom read and cheered me on! thank you both so much. I love you. Any remaining mistakes are mine!
> 
> some general notes: this is set in the near-distant future, and it is NOT a military based operation. liam is military, zayn is former military, and harry is, along with everyone else, full civilian. there's some briefly mentioned minor character death, but it doesn't go into detail. I think that's it, but feel free to ask questions. 
> 
> please don't show to anyone even remotely connected to the boys.
> 
> I hope you like it! enjoy!

Considering the fact that Harry’s a certified genius, he gets locked in bathrooms far too frequently for his liking. 

Honestly, someone with a doctorate in aeronautical and space engineering shouldn’t have this much trouble with a simple motorized sliding door. A sliding door that he helped design, no less. 

“Can’t even go a week without getting myself stuck somewhere,” he murmurs to himself, pressing down on the locking mechanism. He could just open the control panel and tinker with it until the door opened, but obviously the control panel is on the other side of the wall. “Why on Earth put a control panel inside the bathroom,” he says under his breath, tugging at the handle, “that would make -- far too much -- sense!” 

His hands slip off and he goes sprawling with a shout and a thud, pain shooting up his arm. He sighs, flopping back on the ground. Perhaps it’s safer to wait for someone to find him. 

The door opens with a hiss not a moment later, and Harry scrambles to sit up, eyes going wide at the man who walks in. He's beautiful, is the thing, hands down the most gorgeous person Harry has ever seen. He's wearing a drab gray flight suit, but it doesn't distract from the cut of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw or the fullness of his mouth. His hair shaggy and dark and looks incredibly soft. Harry wants to touch it. 

He frowns down at Harry. "Alright?"

"Yeah, um, I just --" Harry gets to his feet, surprised to learn that he's taller than the man. He's not sure why he's surprised, actually, because he's taller than most people. "Fancied a nap, I suppose."

"Oh," the man says, nodding. "Could leave you to it, if you prefer?" 

"No! No, um, I'm good, thanks."

"Alright," the guy -- Harry scans his suit, eyes snagging on a name, Malik -- says. "Suppose you could leave then, Dr. Styles?"

Harry's face heats immediately. How did he know -- right, Harry's required to wear his blue jumpsuit and name tag at all times. Duh. "Yeah right I'll just," he juts a thumb out the door. "Be um, careful with the lock, though. Likes to stick."

Malik makes a huffing noise and looks at the door. It sounds a bit like a laugh, but he doesn't look particularly like he's laughing. "Thanks for the tip," he says and Harry takes his cue to leave. 

He considers staying behind to make sure Malik gets out safely, but figures it's a little too creepy and awkward, even for him. 

\---

Over the next few days, Harry sees Malik around the station. Just here and there; once in the mess hall, surrounded by a table of loud men all in identical gray-green flight suits, once in the barracks with the top half of his flight suit around his waist and just a white tank top underneath, a whole sleeve of tattoos on display. And, once in the observatory staring out at the blue-green orb of the Earth, a sketchbook in hand. Harry'd wanted to approach him then, ask what he was drawing or if he missed anyone back home, but Malik had looked so lost in thought that Harry hadn't wanted to disturb him.

They aren't formally introduced until a week or so after their bizarre bathroom meeting, when Harry's working on smoothing out all of the glitches in the command post. It's what he's here for, and he's only got six months to do it. It's a lot for one person, even if he can delegate to his team.

“Styles, got someone for you to meet, if you'll join us.”

Harry looks up from the command desk, smiling at Captain Payne. He insists for Harry to call him Liam, since Harry's a civilian and they’re sort of frighteningly close to the same age. Harry’s spent a lot of time making Captain America jokes about him, but they stopped being funny when he figured out that Liam probably was as close to the real life Captain America as they could get. Or the jokes got funnier. Harry hasn’t decided yet. 

“Sure, no problem,” he says, clicking a few keys and clearing the screen.

“Harry, this is our future Captain, Zayn Malik,” Liam says, gesturing to a man behind him. Malik, obviously. Captain Malik, apparently. “Captain Malik, this is Dr. Styles, the head engineer of the station.”

“Hi,” Harry says with a laugh, sticking out his hand. Captain Malik takes it, giving it a firm shake.

“Hi,” he says, an amused tilt to his mouth. “Better meeting, this time around.” 

“Definitely. Hope there wasn’t any trouble with the door.” 

Zayn’s brow creases for a moment, like he doesn’t quite understand what Harry’s talking about, and clears, a pleasant smile fitting in its place. Great. Harry’s made him smile pleasantly. Really impressive. 

“The bathroom door,” he says, scrunching his face awkwardly. “Because it stuck when I was in there -- Never mind.” 

“So,” Liam interrupts, “You’ve met?” 

“Only briefly,” Harry says, and clears his throat. “But I’m happy to um, show him the ropes or whatever. Or,” he turns to Zayn, giving him a sheepish smile. Try actually speaking to people when they’re in the room Harry, Christ. “I’m happy to show you the ropes, if you’d like.” 

Zayn frowns a little, biting down on the bottom corner of his mouth. Harry has an inexplicable urge to run his thumb over it. He won’t do that, though, because Zayn would think he’s a freak and also he’d probably get fired for harassment or assault. “There’s not a manual or something?” 

“Oh,” Harry says, his face flushing. Obviously he shouldn’t have just assumed that Zayn would want to spend time with him. Since when is Harry calling him Zayn anyway? Malik. Captain Malik. “Not really? I have lots of notes, but um. I haven’t got around to actually writing the manual, yet.” 

“Oh,” Zayn says, and looks away. God, this meeting’s going really great. 

Harry clears his throat and tries not to sound too desperate or pathetic when he says, “You could help me, maybe. Write it. As I’m like, teaching you.” 

“That sounds like a great idea!” Liam claps a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll really get to know her like this! Nothing better than getting your hands dirty, eh Harry?” 

Harry blushes immediately, and stammers out a response before Liam takes pity on him with a laugh and another clap to his shoulder. Zayn doesn’t say anything, just looks between the two of them with a curious sort of gaze and stays silent. 

“I thought you were Captain, Liam?” Harry finally blurts, eager to change the subject. 

Liam rolls his eyes. “Right now I am, yeah, but Zayn’s my replacement. Or, eventual replacement. So like, assistant Captain.” 

“And my replacement?” Harry frowns. That seems like a lot for one person to take on, if Zayn were to replace both Harry and Liam. 

“No, we’ll find someone for you as well. Think they’re searching right now, in fact. Trying to recruit someone out of Germany or something.” 

Harry nods. Liam keeps talking, but Harry finds himself drifting, thinking instead of Zayn. Or, Captain Malik. Whatever. Harry’s not so sure it’s a good idea for them to spend a lot of time together before he leaves. What if he -- No. Right. Harry’s an adult. He can keep himself from developing a crush. He can.

“Anyway, we’d best be off, lots to see,” Liam says, giving Harry a warm smile. Harry nods again, and sticks his hand out to Zayn to shake. 

“Good to meet you officially,” he says. Zayn takes his hand and shakes it, his palm warm and smooth against Harry’s. 

“You too,” he says, and then he’s turning away and walking off the bridge with Liam. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He can totally do this. He can.

If he tells himself enough times, he might just start to believe it. 

\---

Three days later, Harry’s napping in his quarters when the comm device shrieks to life from its charging station on the wall. He’s been awake almost two days straight trying to smooth out the bugs in the door systems. He’s fairly certain that all the most important doors will close and open when they’re supposed to, at least. 

“Jesus fuck,” Harry grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face as the tablet keeps emitting high-pitched noises. It’s lucky there are no dogs allowed on board. They’d probably all be going mad. 

Harry stumbles across the small room, side-stepping the chair and desk to punch the button on his comm. The screen flickers to life and a face appears.

“Styles!” 

“Tomlinson,” Harry answers, taking the device off the wall and back to his bunk. Louis’ across the station in the medical bay, and while he could’ve walked over to annoy Harry in person, God forbid he actually do something that might constitute exercise. For a medic, he’s really ridiculously unhealthy. “You need something?” 

“Missed your face, that’s all,” Louis says, smiling in a way that Harry knows means trouble. He’s too sleep-hazy to figure out what kind of trouble, but it’s there. He can feel it. 

“Yeah, sure you did. What’s up?” 

Louis mumbles out something that sounds like _I dunno_ and _bored wasn’t I_ and shrugs. Harry sighs. 

“Look, either come have a nap and a snuggle or find someone to annoy. Liam’s got to be around somewhere. You could prank him.” 

“Nah, the cameras make it impossible,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “And he doesn’t get mad anymore, which was half the fun, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

Louis grins and looks at Harry a moment, gaze softening. “You look like shit,” he says, and Harry snorts. 

“Thanks. You coming or not, because I’m hanging up either way.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Be there in ten.”

“You know the code,” Harry answers and turns the screen off. He puts the device down on his bed and curls onto his side to sleep. Not long after the door slides open and the bed dips slightly behind him. 

“Debugging binge?” Harry hears the dull thud of his boots on the ground before Louis curls up behind him, fitting an arm around his waist. 

“Two days,” Harry mumbles, ignoring Louis’ scoff. They’ve been in this sort of position before, ever since they both worked on their first expedition together. Harry had just been starting out as a mechanic’s assistant and Louis had been helping his mother in the medical bay. They were teenagers, and somehow they’d managed to stick together for almost a decade. Louis is his rock. Harry can’t imagine his life without him. 

“Go to sleep, Hazza,” Louis mumbles, his voice soothing. “I’ll wake you for dinner.” 

\---

Not even five minutes later, Harry’s comm device shrieks again. He groans pathetically, slapping it with a hand until Louis takes pity on him and grabs it. Harry has no idea who it could be. He hasn’t got any friends, no one except Louis and Liam, and Louis is here and Harry’s got a sneaking suspicion that Liam doesn’t know how to call people on the comms. Anyway. 

“You’d better have a fucking brilliant reason for interrupting nap time,” Louis says, making Harry muffle a laugh into his pillow. 

“Didn’t realize he was busy,” a vaguely familiar voice says. Harry frowns and turns over. That sounds like -- 

“Malik.” Louis sends Harry a look with his eyebrows over the edge of the device. Harry buries his face in his hands. Brilliant. Awesome. This is exactly what he needs. “Did you -- er -- He’s right here, if you need him.” 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Zayn says, voice scratchy over the connection. Harry supresses a whimper and runs a hand through his hair and sits up before taking the comm. 

“Hi,” he says, trying not to wince when he spots his image in the box in the corner. 

“Hi,” Zayn says, looking awkwardly off camera. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Harry waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just taking a nap. Did you um -- need something?” 

Zayn scratches at the back of his neck, nodding. “Just thought you’d want to go over those notes sometime.” 

Right. Of course. The notes that Harry told him they’d make into a manual for the station. 

“Definitely, definitely,” Harry says with a nod, “But, I -- um. I just spent two days working out some of the bugs in the system for the doors so I need to like, sleep.” So eloquent. So smooth and charming. Christ. “So could we maybe talk about it at dinner?” 

“Sure,” Zayn says. He finally looks at the screen, an awkward smile on his face. It’s nice to know Harry’s not the only one who feels out of place at the moment. “I’ll meet you there? Nineteen hundred hours?” 

Harry nods again. “Sounds good.” 

“Great. And um -- ” Zayn glances away and back to the screen. “Maybe put on a shirt?” 

Louis crows with laughter as Harry sputters and looks down. The blanket must’ve slipped down when he was sitting up and he forgot -- Fuck, how could he forget that he wasn’t wearing clothes?

He looks up to explain, only to find the screen blank. He drops it on the bed and flops back dramatically, covering his face again. 

“Kill me, please,” he groans, grabbing a pillow and hitting Louis with it when all he does is keep laughing. 

“Oh my god, sorry, sorry, stop!” 

Harry stills when Louis grabs his wrist and takes the pillow. He pouts up at him, a pretty run of the mill _take pity on me_ sort of look. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“So,” he says instead, putting the pillow back where it goes and flopping down next to Harry. “He’s cute.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” 

Louis ignores him. “And you’re meeting him for dinner.” 

“To go over my notes on how to run the station,” Harry says. “It’s hardly whatever you’re thinking.” 

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Oh? What am I thinking, then?” 

“That it’s romantic or something,” Harry says, shoving his hand in Louis’ face. Louis slaps him away. “When it’s not. I hardly know him.” 

Louis holds up a finger. “But you’ll get to know him.” 

Harry sighs. There’s really no use talking to Louis when he’s like this. Well, actually, he’s always like this, but the point stands. 

“Yes, I’ll get to know him and then I’ll leave, so there’s no point. Also, we work together, so will you drop it?” 

Louis looks at him a moment and then shrugs. “I was only pointing it out.” 

“The fact that he’s cute? Did you think my eyes had stopped working?” 

“No need to get snappy. I said I was just saying.” 

“Well, stop saying.” 

Louis stays quiet for a moment, one single, blessed moment, and then, “And it’s not like he’ll be up here forever, you know. No one stays in space perma -- hey!” 

The thud Louis’ body makes as it hits the ground is perversely satisfying. 

\---

Harry finds himself an empty table near the back of the Mess and plops down his tray of freeze-dried food before sliding onto the bench. One of the things he misses most about Earth, no doubt, is real, fresh fruit. He’d absolutely kill for a banana. It’d surely be better than what’s on his plate now. 

“Just not the same,” he mumbles, poking sadly at the lump of banana pieces. 

“Hey.” 

Harry looks up at the voice, blinking a few times at Za -- Captain Malik? Zayn. He hasn’t got his flight suit on right now, just a white tee and standard issue grey pants, his wiry arms covered in tattoos. Harry’s seen them before in passing, but never up close like this. There’s so many of them, almost a full sleeve of different images that Harry wants to run his fingertips over and then maybe also his lips. 

Wait, right. Focus. 

“Hi,” he says a little too loudly. “Um. I mean. You made it!” 

Zayn’s mouth twitches like he’s going to smile, but instead he just slides onto the bench opposite of Harry. “I made it,” he says, picking up his fork. 

Harry watches him for a moment, watches how his nose crinkles up when he sniffs his forkful of food and watches how his eyebrows twitch when he swallows it. Freeze dried food is honestly terrible. 

“Not as good as Mum makes,” Harry says, trying to be conversational and charming, but Zayn looks at him and his expression shutters, goes from mildly displeased to blank alarmingly fast. Shit, what did Harry do?

“Um.”

“Suppose not,” Zayn says finally, flashing a sort of hybrid smile-grimace. Harry gives him one back and they fall into silence again. 

“I’d kill for an an actual banana,” Harry says, wincing as he swallows the freeze-dried ones. He looks up only to have Zayn staring at him with a blank face still, impassive and unimpressed. God, Harry’s never been this out of sorts around someone. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Zayn beats him to it.

“Do you have the notes?” 

Well. That’s easy, then. Harry nods and bends to retrieve his case. He sets it on the table and opens it, revealing three overstuffed accordion files sitting atop five spiral notebooks. 

Zayn’s eyes go wide. “They’re handwritten?” 

Harry only just restrains his eyeroll. “Yeah.” Obviously.

Zayn lets out a slow breath and reaches out, taking one of the notebooks. “It’s completely full,” he says, flipping through the pages. “They’re all like this?” 

“Pretty much.” Harry shrugs. “There’s a lot you can’t do on an electronic notebook, even now. It was just easier to do it by hand.” He laughs a bit, sheepish. “I guess part of the project is transferring it all…” 

Zayn doesn’t answer, just keeps flipping through the books and opening the files. “This’ll take...” he shakes his head. 

“Months,” Harry supplies. “Probably. You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want. You just seemed eager to get to know the system, and this is the best way. If you wait until I’ve done it all, you won’t have me to answer your questions.” 

“Why not?” 

Harry frowns and looks up. Zayn’s looking at him directly for probably the first time ever, and Harry feels strange about it. Caught off-guard. “Because I’m leaving in six months.” 

“Oh. Right,” Zayn says, shaking his head again. Had he honestly thought Harry would be here for longer? Liam had told Harry that most people signed up for two years, but the thought of two whole years away from his family and like, the Earth was too much. But it’s not like Zayn knows that, so whatever. 

“Anyway.” Harry clears his throat. “You don’t have to. Just, if you’re bored or something, maybe -- ”

“I’ll do it.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll do it, don’t have anything better to do,” Zayn repeats, nodding. He puts the papers carefully back into the files and back into the case. Harry watches him, dumbstruck. 

When Zayn’s done, he looks at Harry. “When do you work again?”

“Um,” Harry says, glancing down at his case. He’s having a bit of trouble following Zayn’s line of thinking. “I um, tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Command deck. Are you sure you don’t have other things to do?” _Like, your actual job, maybe?_

Zayn raises an eyebrow at him. “Liam told me to get to know the station, yeah?” Harry nods. “And you both said this is the best way,” he says, “So unless you didn’t really mean it, I don’t see why not.” 

“Right,” Harry says. Zayn’s just so hard to get a read on, is all. One moment he’s all shuttered up and tense and the next he’s saying he’ll willingly spend months sorting through the chaos of Harry’s notes. It’s a bit like whiplash. Maybe Harry should just go with it. 

Zayn nods and stands, grabbing his tray. He’s only had the one bite. “See you tomorrow,” he says, and Harry nods, watching him dump his tray on the conveyor belt to the kitchens and walk out of the mess. 

Harry turns back and blinks down at his food. 

“Okay,” he says, and takes another bite. 

\---

Zayn’s sitting outside the doors to the command deck the next morning at 0600 hours. Not even 0600 hours, actually, more like 0550 and no one else on Harry’s team ever gets to command until after breakfast. Zayn isn’t even on Harry’s team, really. He’s just sitting there, with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the wall, almost as if he’s sleeping, but that’d be ridiculous. Why sleep in the corridor when you’ve got perfectly acceptable living quarters? 

“Hey,” Harry says, in his sleep-rough morning voice. Louis always laughs at him for it, but Harry knows that’s only because he’s jealous that his voice could never in a million years be half as low as Harry’s. He nudges Zayn’s boot with his own. “Hey, Malik.” 

Zayn grunts but doesn’t open his eyes. Harry frowns and nudges harder. When Zayn still doesn’t respond, he moves to jostle Zayn’s knee. 

“I’m awake,” he says, without opening his eyes. Harry pauses, foot caught in mid-air. “You can open the door.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and does just that. 

Command is empty, just like it always is, and Harry moves smoothly through the space to his work station, not pausing to see whether or not Zayn’s followed him in. 

Harry sets his case down and takes out his newest notebook, flipping to the priorities list he’d made last night instead of sleeping. He uncaps a pen with his teeth and starts marking things that can be done later off the list. 

“You designed all this?”

Harry looks up at Zayn, who’s gazing around the room with the same wide-eyed stare he’d given Harry’s notes the night before. 

“Mostly,” he answers. “There was a base design, sort of. Like a general blueprint. I worked off that. Refined it.” 

Zayn nods and doesn’t say anything else. Harry watches him walk up to a panel and click through the screens rapidly, with more ease than most (if not all) of the developers on his team.

“You’ve never been in here before,” Harry says. He’d meant it to be a question. 

“No,” Zayn agrees. “It’s intuitive, though. Know my way around a spacecraft.” 

Harry snorts. “This is hardly a space craft.” He doesn’t like to toot his own horn or anything, but a space station and a space ship are entirely different things. Entirely. A space station is much more complicated, first of all. “Bit more complex than that.” 

Zayn glances over at him. He looks infuriatingly passive still, but also sort of...not. A little challenging. Like he wants Harry to prove it, which is ridiculous because anyone with any common sense knows that a station’s bigger than a ship and much more involved to design -- Right. This has to stop. 

“It doesn’t matter, I guess,” Harry says, flashing a smile. “I’m glad the system’s not giving you trouble.” 

“I didn’t say that.” Zayn’s mouth quirks into a smile, a real one for the tiniest, briefest second and Harry’s heart stutters. “Said it’s intuitive. I could probably get around in it. Couldn’t keep us on course or anything.” 

“Well, that’s what we’re here for.” 

“Right.” Zayn nods. “That’s what we’re here for.” 

He joins Harry at his workstation, taking the older notes from him and moving to an empty station in the back. Harry watches as he spreads the papers out, going over each one methodically and putting them in some sort of order. 

“You want me to input them into the system first, yeah?” 

“Might be easier,” Harry says with a shrug. “But do as you like.” 

Zayn nods and goes back to the papers. Harry looks for a moment more and then gets to work. 

It goes on like that for at least two weeks. Harry comes to command in the morning, lets Zayn in, gives him the notes and they work in silence until lunch and then again until dinner. Zayn never gets in the way and never asks stupid questions like half of the junior programmers on Harry’s team do. He just exists and works and moves around everyone without disturbing a thing. It’s oddly perfect. 

In fact, the only thing that isn’t perfect is the actual work. Harry still can’t work out the glitch in the door system and while no one’s reported an airlock opening out of the blue or refusing to let someone back in, Harry’s afraid that it’s only a matter of time. 

“I don’t understand,” he mutters, his finger to the screen, tracking code as he scrolls down. “I don’t understand what I’m _missing_. It’s got to be here.” 

“Um, you alright?” 

Harry blinks, losing his focus on the lines in front of him and zeroing in on Zayn’s voice instead. Great. He’ll have to go back over all of that. 

He turns. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been muttering at your screen for about an hour,” Zayn says, his brow furrowed. “It’s distracting, like.” 

Heat floods Harry’s face and he bites his lip, glancing back to the screen. “It’s just, um.” Should he even bother Zayn with something like this? The likelihood of him being able to help is slim. But maybe it’ll feel better to talk about it. 

“So the doors stick sometimes,” Harry says, and Zayn raises an eyebrow. “And they um, aren’t supposed to. Obviously. And it’s not like a real problem, because it isn’t affecting the airlock or anything, but it might, and also it’s inconvenient to get stuck somewhere and have to wait for someone to come and get you out. So like, I’m trying to fix it, only I can’t find whatever the problem is.” 

Zayn nods and stays silent for a moment, for so long that Harry thinks he might not say anything at all, in fact, but just as Harry’s clearing his throat Zayn opens his mouth. 

“And you’re sure the problem’s with the code?” 

Harry blinks. “Where else would it be?” 

Zayn shrugs. “The electrical system, for starters. The shower in my quarters never works right,” he says. “Spoke to someone in maintenance and they said that’s common on stations under construction.” 

“Oh.” Harry feels very, very stupid. “I suppose it might not be, then.” 

Zayn shrugs and turns back to Harry’s notes. 

Of course, it isn’t always like that. Harry knows he wouldn’t have half the fascination he does with Zayn if he’d just talk once in awhile, or actually deign to answer a personal question. He knows it’d be easier to get over his stupid infatuation if he could just actually get to know Zayn, but Zayn seems hellbent on making sure they’re nothing more than coworkers. Or. Whatever the space station equivalent of that is. 

Harry can deal with that, he supposes. It’ll be hard, but he can try. He can try.

\---

It’s a full month before Harry and Zayn have a conversation longer than three sentences and that doesn’t have to do with Harry’s notes or the station. It’s an early morning, and they’re the only ones in command, working quietly side by side. Usually it’s peaceful and the quiet helps Harry focus, but he’d woken up in a bizarre mood, still antsy from his weekly call to Earth the night before. 

He’s been looking up at Zayn every few moments, listening to the gentle rustle of the papers as Zayn goes through them. He’s almost through the second notebook. Harry’s impressed. It’s a lot of material to cover. 

“So,” he says, almost startling himself. His voice sounds so loud in the quiet room. “How long are you here for?” 

Zayn doesn’t look up, only asks, “What?” 

“How long are you on the station?” Harry clears his throat. “When’s your term done, or whatever.” 

“Oh.” Zayn frowns down at the papers. “Whenever I want, I suppose. At least two years, technically.” 

A typical term, then, but Zayn makes it sound so strange. Like he won’t leave when the time’s up. “So you’ll just keep signing on?” 

“Yep.” 

Harry frowns. “Why?”

Zayn shrugs and doesn’t answer. It’s obvious from the way his shoulders have gone tense that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but Harry’s curious now, and he’s always had trouble with self-control.

“What if they re-assign you?” 

Zayn’s quiet for a long moment, and then finally looks up. “They won’t,” he says. He doesn’t sound angry or challenging or anything. He just sounds like he’s stating a fact. It makes Harry frown harder.

“How do you know that?” 

“Because no one else is willing to stay up here that long,” Zayn answers with a shrug. He looks back down to his papers. Harry goes back to his work for a moment, but God, he isn’t any less curious. 

“Why are you?” 

Zayn lets out a breath. It’s the same sort of noise Louis makes when he’s annoyed. “What?” 

Harry tilts his head. “Why are you willing to stay?” 

“It’s easier than being on the ground.”

“Oh.” Harry chews on his bottom lip. He wants to ask more, but Zayn’s still looking down at his papers all tense and his movements have gone strange and jerky. Harry lets it drop for the time being, and goes back to his work. He isn’t any less antsy. If anything he’s more worked up having finally gotten some (albeit confusing) answers about Zayn and he isn’t concentrating well. 

After reading the same section of code for the eighth time, he turns abruptly in his chair, opening his mouth to speak. 

Of course, that’s when the door slides open and Johnson comes in with Phipps, talking loudly about something that doesn’t matter. Zayn grunts out a greeting to them, and Harry waves, turning back to his monitor. 

It’ll have to wait, apparently.

\---

He gets the call about the malfunctioning panel shutter just before lunch. It’s not a big deal, the head of maintenance says, but they’ve done everything they know how to do and it hasn’t worked, so maybe Harry better take a look at it. Harry agrees and tells them he’ll be up there after lunch. 

Zayn, despite the tense conversation earlier, trails after Harry when he leaves for the Mess, hands stuck in the pockets of his flight suit. His wardrobe doesn’t vary much, Harry’s noticed, but then again, no one’s does. They don’t really have a reason to, he supposes. It’s not like there’s parties or social gatherings other than the workers gathering in the Mess to relax. He’s brought a few of his colorful button downs up with him, but most of the time he finds himself in the standard issue t-shirts -- black, white, and gray -- and his own blue jumpsuit. It’s easier that way, but Harry does miss dressing up something awful. 

“Got a call from maintenance,” he says, just so he has something to listen to other than the sound of his and Zayn’s boots on the floor. “Solar panel malfunction. They want me to look at it.” 

“Cool,” Zayn says, and then nothing else. Harry clears his throat. 

“You could go with me, if you wanted. I need someone to like, observe, you know. If you wanted.” 

Zayn doesn’t answer for a moment, but nods when Harry glances at him. “Sure. Better than sitting up in command all day, staring at your chicken scratch.” 

Harry frowns. “I told you you don’t have to -- ” 

“I’m kidding, Styles,” he says, a smile twitching at his mouth. He nudges Harry’s elbow with his own lightly, but the shock of it causes Harry to stumble into the wall. 

“Rude,” Harry says, and Zayn laughs. That’s when Harry learns that Zayn looks amazing when he laughs. Like, okay, he looks amazing all the time, but when he laughs his eyes crinkle up and sparkle like a cartoon and his tongue presses up against his teeth and the sound of it, light and beautiful, makes something bubble up in Harry’s chest and spill over. 

It’s completely unfair, really.

After their lunch -- where Harry pokes mournfully at his freeze dried bananas again -- they make their way to level 14 and to the maintenance module. It’s small, basically a closet situated just outside the airlock room. Harry thanks the stars that he doesn’t have to strip down to get into the space suit. He doesn’t think he could handle being half-naked in such close proximity to Zayn. 

“Hand me the helmet?” 

Zayn looks up at him, and then to where he’s pointing at the helmet still hanging against the wall. 

“What are you gonna do with -- ” He motions to Harry’s head, waving his hand around. “ -- All that?” 

Harry’s mouth twitches into a smile before he can stop it. “My hair?” Zayn nods. “Well, you see, Captain Malik, they have these things called hair ties.” Harry takes his off his wrist, stretching it a few times in demonstration before twisting his hair into a knot and securing it. 

Zayn rolls his eyes and takes the helmet off the wall. Harry reaches for it, but Zayn ignores him and stretches up, fitting it onto Harry’s head himself. Harry blinks at the sudden proximity, his breath fogging up the glass when he can feel the muffled pressure of Zayn’s fingers at the suit’s neck, clasping the latch and sealing the suit. 

“There,” Zayn says finally, his voice sounding distant and far away. “All good.” 

Harry nods, dazed, and motions to the headset against the wall, next to the control panel for the airlock. 

“Ready to let me out?” he asks, once Zayn’s put the radio on. 

“Tell me when, Styles.” 

Harry smiles at him before he remembers that Zayn can’t see him. The door opens before he can think about anything else, though, and he steps into the airlock chamber, giving Zayn a wave as the door closes. 

_Right, _he thinks, grabbing the cable that attaches to their suits so he won’t just float off into space and hooks it on. _Time to get to work._ __

Harry gets stuck in the airlock. 

The repairs go swimmingly; Harry fixes the shutter and checks all the other ones in record time and manages to make his way back down to his entry point with half his oxygen left. The only hiccup in the whole thing is when his cable got a bit twisted around himself and he banged himself on a poorly placed corner of the station. Nothing had torn, the suit was still intact and most likely Harry would end up with a bruise or something, so he hadn’t really thought much of it. 

Of course, then he got into the airlock and the doors wouldn’t open and then his suit started beeping at him that he was at a dangerously low oxygen level. Awesome. He must’ve hit the pump when he bashed into the side. It’s probably leaking. 

“Zayn, how’s it going in there?” he asks, blocking out the soothing mechanical voice saying _fifteen minutes of oxygen remaining_. 

"It’s uh -- ” Zayn’s voice is clear over the radio at least, that’s something. It’d be icing on the cake if it stopped working. God, Harry shouldn’t have even thought it. “It’s coming. I don’t really -- I’m not sure what I’m looking at.” 

“There should, um, there’s three main cables. Orange, blue and yellow,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to picture the control panel. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn says, and Harry imagines him nodding. He supposes he could just look through the window and see him do it, but then he’d forget what the panel looks like. “Do I like, cut one?” 

“No! No, do not cut it.” Harry takes a deep breath -- _thirteen minutes of oxygen remaining_ (Yep, definitely leaking) -- and thinks. “You should, um. You should just be able to yank it out.” 

“Okay,” Zayn says slowly. “Which one?” 

“Um.” That’s sort of the problem. Harry doesn’t remember. “I’m not sure.” 

“You’re not sure?” 

“No. I don’t, um. Oh God.” He’s going to die, he’s going to suffocate in the airlock chamber because he’s too much of an idiot to fix the system that he fucking designed. 

“I’m gonna try one then, alright? Gonna try the orange,” Zayn says, but his voice has gone lower than usual, soothing and calm, like he’s trying to keep Harry from freaking out, which is ridiculous because Harry isn’t freaking out. He isn’t. 

_Eleven minutes of oxygen remaining._

“And pulling it out now,” Zayn says, slowly. Harry tenses and waits a beat, but nothing happens. 

“Uh, okay. Not that one,” Harry says, and Zayn makes a noise Harry takes as an agreement. 

“Okay, put it back in. Um. Yellow?” 

“Yellow,” Harry repeats, something in his brain dinging at that. Not a good dinging though. “No, wait, not -- Shit!” 

The airlock chamber plunges into darkness, the only light coming from inside of Harry’s suit. The lights have gone out where Zayn is as well, and Harry can only barely see him, illuminated by the glow from his helmet. He looks strange; sharp and much sadder than before, swathed in shadow. Harry doesn’t like it. 

“Zayn, please,” he says, desperation clear in his tone. 

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Zayn say says, and it’s only a few more seconds and a swear or two from Zayn before the lights come back on, making Harry blink. 

_Six minutes of oxygen remaining._

Yeah, alright. He gets it. 

“Okay, so it’s the blue one,” Harry says. “Pull the blue one.” 

Zayn is quiet for a moment before, “Um. I can’t.” 

“What do you mean you can’t?” 

“It’s stuck,” Zayn says. He appears in the window, looking adorably confused. No, no, focus Harry. 

“Well, unstick it!” 

“How?” 

“I dunno, Zayn!” Harry shouts that, he’s definitely shouting, even though it makes his voice echo very painfully inside the helmet. “But I only have five minutes of oxygen left, so you’d better figure it out!” 

“What?” Zayn asks, sounding panicked. “Five minutes?” 

“That’s what the nice robotic lady keeps telling me.” 

“But you -- there’s oxygen in the airlock?” 

“Not that can get into my suit,” Harry says slowly. “It’s sealed.” 

“You can’t take off your helmet?” Zayn asks, his eyes wide. 

“Not with these,” Harry says, waving a much-too-bulky hand, dutifully ignoring the _three minutes of oxygen remaining, please connect to a recharge station immediately_ in his ear. “The latch is too small, it’s designed for someone else to do it. Now please, Zayn, open the fucking door!” 

He watches through the window as Zayn messes with the control panel -- well, not that he can see the panel, but he can see Zayn’s face and the slideshow of expressions it goes through. Panicked to terrified to annoyed and back to terrified. Harry tries to keep his breaths even, but his suit’s leaking too quickly or Harry’s having an anxiety attack, because he starts to get lightheaded and woozy. 

“Zayn,” he says, voice slow, too slow. “Cut the wire.” 

“You told me not to,” Zayn says, voice frantic. “Hey, Harry, stay with me, okay babe? I can cut it?” 

“Yeah,” Harry responds, feeling his mouth stretch into a slow smile. “You called me ‘babe’. That’s nice. I like that.” 

Zayn laughs, but he sounds hysterical. Harry frowns. He doesn’t like that laugh. “I’ll do it all the time if you stay awake. Harry? Can you hear me? Can you -- ” 

And then nothing. 

\--- 

“I should fucking smother you,” someone familiar says, right next to Harry’s head. He blinks awake, smiling at Louis. 

Hi,” he says, and then, after a glance around and remembering what happened, “Oops.” 

“I’m honestly going to murder you,” Louis says, his mouth set in a thin line. That means he’s really upset, which means Harry’s really fucked up which means he has to use the Level Five Puppy Eyes. 

“Please don’t,” he says, trying to look and sound as pathetic as he can. It works like a charm because Louis deflates instantly, flopping down into a chair and resting his head on the outer wall of Harry’s medpod. 

Harry stays quiet, biting back his questions and instead running a hand through Louis’ hair. The biggest mistake Harry could make now is pushing him. Louis will talk when he’s ready. 

“You stopped breathing,” Louis says eventually, slightly muffled into the pod. “You -- Malik pulled you out of the airlock and you were unconscious. Weren’t breathing.” 

“My suit had an oxygen leak,” Harry says quietly. “I told him, but -- The door was messed up.” 

Louis ignores him. “He hit the emergency med button and was doing compressions when we got there. Resuscitated you himself.” 

Harry resists the urge to put his fingers to his mouth. It’d be inappropriate to wonder what Zayn’s mouth felt like against his, just like it’s inappropriate that he’s filled with a rush of excitement knowing it happened. 

_You nearly died, you twat,_ his mind supplies. 

“I’ll have to thank him,” Harry says, squeezing the back of Louis’ neck. “I didn’t -- It was an accident, you know.” 

Louis looks up, his eyes red like he’s been crying. Always so emotional, Louis is. (Not that Harry’s one to talk, actually.) “I know it was, Haz. But you’re -- ” 

“I know,” Harry says, nodding. “I know.” 

They fall into silence after that, and eventually Harry drifts off to sleep. 

Harry gets released from medical bay when he wakes again, with Louis glowering at him as he reads the after care instructions. He’s supposed to take it easy for a few days, make sure he doesn’t go up too many flights of stairs at once or exert himself in any way. He’ll be shaky, Louis explains, as an after effect of the med pod and the loss of oxygen. There’s quite a few things they can cure, but apparently almost asphyxiating isn’t one of them. 

He’s hungry, but he doesn’t much feel like going to the mess at the moment, since it’s bound to be crowded with people eating dinner. He makes his way up to the observation deck instead, pondering taking his comm device with him to see if he can catch his mum or sister. They’re usually busy, though, which is why they have a scheduled call time, but Harry’s just almost died and he’d like to talk to his family a bit. 

He decides against it, in the end, not wanting to deal with the disappointment that comes when no one answers his call. 

He takes a seat next to the viewing panel -- _giant window_ , he tells himself, that’s all it is -- and stares out at the Earth. They orbit it about sixteen times a day, once every ninety minutes and Harry’s been known to stay up here longer than that. He can’t sleep sometimes, his head’s too full of numbers and designs and blueprints, so he comes here and just watches the Earth pass by. 

It’s quiet, which is one of the things Harry likes most about space -- the station itself notwithstanding. It’s a sort of peace that he’s sure he’d never find anywhere else, except maybe the most secluded, remote part of a mountain pass or something, and he hates rock climbing. When he was little, he used to lay on his back in his treehouse and stare at the stars through the skylight, wondering what it’d be like up here, wondering if he’d ever feel as at peace as he did in those moments. 

Looking down on the Earth now, Harry’s still unsure of the answer. 

“Hey,” someone says, startling him out of his thoughts. He turns sharply, relaxing when he sees Zayn. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling. Zayn’s got his hands in his pockets, his flight suit sleeves pushed up around his elbows and the front of it gaping open to show off the tank top he’s wearing. _Your mouth has been on mine_ , Harry thinks, and then, _And I wasn’t even conscious for it._

“Thought I might find you here,” Zayn says, taking a few steps closer. 

Harry scoots over, gesturing to the space beside him. It's unnecessary; the bench is massive, curving along the length of the room and utterly empty. Zayn doesn't seem to mind, just ambles over and sits himself down. Harry smiles at him. 

"I got you something," Zayn says, pulling a hand from his pocket, holding a suspiciously yellow object. Zayn holds it out to him. It's -- 

"Oh my god," Harry says, taking it. "Is this a banana? A real one?" 

Zayn smiles, all teeth and crinkles and Harry thinks he might die of happiness. "Yeah. My mate Niall works down in life services, growing the food, like. He told me about these. It's the first batch." 

"Wow," Harry says, holding the banana in his hands like he would a baby. It's much smaller than regular bananas, maybe half the size of them, but its skin is bright yellow and it has the right amount of give under Harry's fingers. He pinches the bottom and peels it, nearly moaning in ecstasy when the smell hits his nose. 

He wants to stuff the whole thing in his mouth at once. He won't, but he wants to. 

"Oh my god," he says, muffled around the bite he's taken. "Oh my god." 

"Good?" Zayn asks with a laugh. 

Harry nods and eats the rest of it, propriety be damned, putting a hand to his chest and closing his eyes when he's finished. 

"That was wonderful, thank you Zayn." 

Zayn shrugs. "No problem. Thought it might cheer you up, after -- You know." 

"Nearly dying?" Harry raises an eyebrow. "I'm alright, you know. But thank you." 

"No problem," Zayn repeats, shrugging. He falls silent, glancing out the window. Harry watches him look for a moment, noticing the way his brow goes tense. Not furrowed, exactly, but not relaxed. 

"Hey," he says gently, putting a tentative hand on Zayn's forearm. His skin is warm and smooth under Harry's fingertips and it makes him want to put his whole hand on his arm or on his stomach and slide it up up up until he reaches Zayn's neck and -- No. Okay. 

Zayn turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. 

"I just wanted to say, um, thank you," Harry stutters out. "For saving me. You -- I really appreciate it." 

"Just did what anyone else would do," Zayn says, lifting a shoulder. Harry wants to protest, wants to say that most people would've just hit the med call button and hoped for the best, but he stays quiet. He doesn't move his hand from Zayn's arm, though, and Zayn doesn't protest. He counts it as a win. 

"How'd you know I'd be here?" 

"See you in here, some nights. When I come up and can't sleep. Sometimes you beat me to it." 

Harry smiles at the thought. He likes that, that they have this place in common and that they can both appreciate the quiet. 

"You could come and sit with me, if you wanted," he says. "I'd like the company." 

"Maybe I'll do that," Zayn answers, looking back out the window again. Harry follows his lead, peering out at Earth as it passes by. He still misses his family, but less than before, he thinks. The ache's not as bad with Zayn beside him. 

\--- 

Harry wakes gasping for breath for the fifth day in a row. He puts a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud, mirrored by the dull pulsing in his neck. He takes a deep breath, holds it, releases and repeats until his heart rate slows to something more manageable. 

He’d been in space this time, in the dream, sealed up in his suit and fixing something when his cable had snapped. He’d been drifting, floating further and further away from the station with no way to get back, helpless as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. The other nightmares have been similar -- one where he’s thrown out of the airlock, one where he’s stuck in an escape pod, one where he’s trapped on the outside of the station and on and on -- but this one had been particularly vivid. Something about the way his voice echoed in his helmet and the dead, unmoving silence that surrounded him the farther and farther away that he’d gotten. 

He’s never really been prone to nightmares, but he supposes a near death experience brings along some unexpected side effects. 

The alarm clock on his communicator goes off across the room and Harry sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He could probably take the day off and try to get some more sleep, but he knows it’d be useless. He might as well try to get some work done. 

He dresses quickly, throwing his hair up in a bun and trudging his way toward command. Zayn’s there, sitting outside the door as usual, and seeing him makes Harry’s heartbeat settle. 

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” Harry tells him, keying in the passcode. Zayn doesn’t answer, just looks at him critically from his spot on the floor and stands when the door slides open. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, brushing past Harry and going to his work station. Harry’s too exhausted to try and figure him out. 

\--- 

That night, Harry’s curled up on a bench in the observation room, the blanket from his living quarters wrapped around his shoulders and staring down at the Earth. He hears the door hiss open, gentle footsteps across the floor and a warm body slide onto the bench next to his. He can tell from his periphery, the familiar flightsuit, that it’s Zayn. Harry doesn’t say anything. 

“I used to fly planes,” Zayn says eventually, shifting. Harry doesn’t look at him, too afraid that if he does, Zayn’ll stop talking. “On the ground.” 

He pauses and Harry can feel him shift again. When he settles, he seems closer, somehow. 

“It wasn’t -- I didn’t grow up wanting it, or anything. Just thought it might be a good way to get out of Bradford, you know. And I had good eyesight and the thought of shooting someone with a gun -- ” He stops. “I dunno. Planes seemed best. And then the space program, after. But the first time I was up there, in the sky, it was like, magic or something. I dunno. Like the freest I’ve ever felt.” 

Harry turns slowly to look at him. He looks different than Harry’s ever seen, sort of far away and not quite there. Harry’s not sure he likes it. 

“Does it feel like that up here?” 

Zayn glances at him, but doesn’t answer. “I saw something once,” he says finally, “An old movie, that said, ‘There’s two kinds of people. Those who want to be astronomers and those who want to be astronauts.’” 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, trying not to be disappointed at the change in subject. 

“Yeah.” Zayn nods. “Which do you think you are?” 

“The first,” Harry says, after a moment, glancing out the window. His chest aches with homesickness suddenly, as if he’d caught a whiff of his mum’s perfume. “Astronomer.” 

“Think you’d be the astronaut, being in space.” 

Harry shrugs. It’s a fair point. He definitely never thought he’d end up here, but he can’t say he regrets it. He looks at Zayn when he answers. “Suppose so,” he says. “Life has a way of doing that, yeah? Taking you off course.” 

Zayn looks away, out the window at Earth glowing in the distance. “Yeah. It does.” 

\--- 

The next few nights continue like that, Harry waking up in a cold sweat from his nightmares and making his way to the observation deck. Sometimes Zayn meets him there, and sometimes he’s already taken up residence on the bench. They’ll sit in silence for a few minutes and then one of them, usually Zayn, will tell some story about before, about being on the ground. It’s not always as serious as that first night, since too many of the stories Harry has to share involve him making a fool of himself in some way or another. 

There are nights when Harry laughs so hard that tears leak out of his eyes and he has to support himself with a hand on the bench to keep from sliding off. Nights when Zayn’s eyes seem to be in a perpetual state of crinkled, lovely and warm and his laugh fills the room. 

Nights when Harry can’t even remember the dreams that woke him in the first place. 

The nights graduate into days, mornings where they find themselves alone in command and laughing at Zayn’s terrible impression of Alberto, one of the head medics, or afternoons spent humming along to Harry’s never-ending music supply. 

Harry walks into command one morning feeling out of sorts. He’d managed to get more sleep than he had been, but that meant he hadn’t seen Zayn, so while he feels well-rested, he’s sort of bummed as well. And Zayn hadn’t been in the mess hall for breakfast, and Harry can see, approaching the command centre, that Zayn’s not sitting outside of it like usual. 

He has a brief, terrifying thought that something’s happened to him, but in the next moment he hears music faintly through the door, and feels something unclench in his chest. Zayn must’ve just gone in already. Odd, but not catastrophic. 

The closer he gets, the clearer he can make out Zayn’s figure in the room. Harry assumed he’d be sitting at his usual station, maybe bobbing his head a bit like he usually does, but he’s not. He’s up and moving around sort of frantically, almost like he’s -- 

Harry comes to a stop in front of the doors, his eyes going wider by the second. 

__Dancing_. Zayn is dancing alone in the command centre. _

He’s good at it too, Harry can tell from the way his hips move to the beat of the bass. The music must be blasting inside. Harry could probably set off the emergency alarm and Zayn wouldn’t even notice. 

Harry stands there for much longer than he means to, watching Zayn move around the room, cheeks flushing with heat at every particularly intricate twist of Zayn’s hips. He doesn’t notice until the song changes and Zayn stops moving, going from a flicker of flame to stock-still in the middle of the room. 

That’s when he realizes the music has stopped. 

Harry blinks rapidly, and looks up to find Zayn looking at him. He can tell through the glass that Zayn’s cheeks are flushed, though whether it’s from embarrassment or exertion he isn’t sure. Zayn doesn’t seem embarrassed though. There’s something about the tilt of his chin and the glint in his eyes that makes Harry want to shrink, submit and apologize. He should apologize, for standing there like a creep and watching him, but he’d -- It was just so -- Mesmerising. Zayn was mesmerising. 

Right, so if Harry had thought that maybe his crush had gone away, it definitely hasn’t. He’s not even sure it can still be called a crush at this point. Harry just likes him, would like to date him and kiss him and take him to bed. Take him to Earth to meet his family. All of it. Christ, he’s embarrassing. He has to keep it as professional as he can. 

_Little too late for that_ , a voice supplies. Harry ignores it. 

He steps forward, opening the door and stepping in. 

“Zayn,” he says, giving a short nod. “Morning.” 

It might be his imagination, but Zayn deflates a little, his shoulders relaxing. The door hisses closed behind him, but Harry doesn’t move. 

“Harry,” Zayn says with a nod back. Christ, it’s so, so awkward. 

“I um, liked that song,” Harry says, at a loss for anything else. Zayn quirks an eyebrow, like he might be surprised, but he doesn’t say anything, so Harry does. “Your technique could use a little work, though.” 

Zayn’s eyes go wide, like that was the last thing he expected to hear. “Oh yeah? You an expert on dancing, then?” 

The tilt to his chin is back, but it’s less defensive, somehow. Harry stands a little straighter. 

“I am.” It’s a lie, an obvious one, because Harry’s about as graceful on the dance floor as he is on a regular floor. Which, considering Zayn was there when Harry got tangled up in the wires he’d been trying to sort out and nearly brained himself on his console, Harry’s fully expecting Zayn to call his bluff. 

Except, Zayn smiles and shakes his head fondly. “Suppose you’ll have to show me sometime, then.” 

Oh. That’s -- Is that flirting? It might be flirting. Harry knows that. He can tell pretty well when he’s being flirted with because it happens a lot -- most of the time, he even instigates it -- and he’s fairly certain that’s what Zayn is doing. He didn’t think Zayn was capable of it, actually. 

“Um, sure,” Harry says a beat too late, flustered. He looks away from Zayn and pushes his way around him, to his work station. He’s got -- he has stuff to do. Very important stuff that doesn’t involve flirting unprofessionally with Zayn Malik. 

\--- 

Of course, not ten minutes later Zayn asks him what one of his notes says and Harry leans over him to see the paper. 

It’s not unusual for Harry to lean over him. Harry’s definitely one of those people who hasn’t got an ounce of understanding of personal space on a good day, so most people either learn to deal with it or they sit him down and tell him they’re uncomfortable. Zayn hasn’t done that yet, so Harry figures it’s fine, but just as soon as Harry’s hunched over him, he feels Zayn shift a bit, tense up like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. That’s how most people act when they don’t know how to react with someone in their space, but it’s not like Harry’s never leaned over him before. So why’s he tensing up now? 

_Also how people who have a crush act_ , a voice in his head says, sounding suspiciously like Louis. Harry squashes the thought immediately, because Zayn doesn’t have a crush. Harry has the crush. Zayn couldn’t like him back. 

_Or could he?_

“Harry?” 

Zayn’s voice pulls back, and he realizes he’s been awkwardly hunched over Zayn’s shoulder for who knows how long. 

“Sorry, zoned out,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself. He leans forward again, his chest brushing the ridge of Zayn’s shoulder and he can’t help it, he brings his arm around to point at the paper. 

It’s a problem, see, because once Harry thinks he’s being flirted with, he will flirt back, no matter what. He’s working on it, really. 

“This one?” he asks, tilting his head so he can speak lowly into Zayn’s ear. It’s absolutely unnecessary, as they’re the only two in the room, but Harry just -- He supposes he isn’t really sure what else to do. He’s got to try, hasn’t he? To see if Zayn flirts back. He’s got to. 

Zayn shifts again, though this time it’s a strange little movement, like he’s suppressing a shudder, and the voice in Harry’s head screams _Get in!!!_

Then, in what feels like a very sudden and abrupt movement, Zayn turns his head, looking Harry in the eye. He’s close enough that Harry can feel his breath, could probably smell it if he had the brain capacity to smell anything. As it is, he’s mostly trying not to faint. 

“That one, yeah,” Zayn says, and Harry’s eyes flick down to his mouth, attracted to the movement. 

“Right,” Harry answers, glancing back up in time to see Zayn’s gaze drop to his mouth. Something hot erupts low in Harry’s gut, nearly bowling him over. He’s not sure how he’s still standing, actually. 

_You are so fucked,_ the voice in Harry’s head says, and Harry can’t help but agree. 

\--- 

After that, Harry starts keeping a meticulous record of every potentially flirty encounter that he has with Zayn. It starts as a simple list, things like _tuesday, lunch, hand contact as salt was passed_ or _friday, early morning, full side body contact on observation deck_ to a whole chart with columns for date, time, type of contact, length of contact, and etc. It becomes a giant file that he eventually shares with Louis, who gets tired of him talking relentlessly about it. 

The thing is that Harry just can’t make sense of it. He knows he’s being obvious, because he’s about as subtle as a trainwreck when he wants someone, so there’s no way Zayn doesn’t know. Harry hasn’t asked, obviously, but there’s just no way. He has to know. 

But that’s another thing. Zayn’s nearly fucking impossible to get a read on. Here’s there one moment, running his fingers over Harry’s shoulders as he passes by or tugging on a stray curl in the middle of conversation. He doesn’t talk much, is the thing. He listens very well, especially to Harry’s rambling stories that he knows aren’t the easiest thing to deal with, but he always sits patiently and waits for Harry to finish before asking questions or laughing or whatever the appropriate response is. Harry’s probably told him every single story he’s got in his arsenal, but he can’t think of more than two or three that Zayn’s told him. 

Harry wants to hear them. He wants to know Zayn and have weird little in-jokes with him and have Zayn share his thoughts and hopes and dreams, or whatever. He wants that, which is probably the scariest thing about it all. He’s sure he wants more of Zayn than he’ll ever actually get. 

\--- 

“I mean,” Harry says, crunching on a M &M that Louis’ just thrown into his mouth from across one of the rooms in medbay, “I dunno. It just seems weird. Like, he was so distant at first, you know? And now it’s like -- ” He waves his hands around. Louis rolls his eyes. They’re talking about Zayn, of course, because Harry talks of little else these days. He’ll probably talk about it until his interactions with Zayn _stop_ being weird, and then he’ll talk about why they stopped being weird. Louis will probably murder him at some point. Harry’s made his peace with it. 

“That’s called being friends, Harry,” he says, tossing another M &M. It hits Harry in the middle of the forehead. He catches it and frowns, popping it into his mouth anyway. 

“I know that, Louis, but it -- I dunno.” He shrugs. “It’s different. Like. I mean it’s definitely mostly flirting. I didn’t know he could flirt.” 

Louis throws another candy at him. “Of course he can flirt! You think someone that looks like that hasn’t got any game? Please.” He throws another, a little harder, and when it hits Harry in the cheek it stings. 

“Goddamnit, Louis -- ” 

“Look, Haz,” Louis interrupts, waving his hands. Probably so he won’t have to listen to Harry berate him. “He’s clearly into you, right? That’s why people flirt. And you’re into him. So just like, talk it out.” 

Harry stares at him for long enough that Louis bristles, and throws another M&M. Harry catches it smoothly and pops it into his mouth. Louis makes a displeased noise. 

“What?” he snaps, and Harry shrugs. 

“Just a little rich, coming from you -- ” 

“It’s not the same at all and you know it -- ” 

Harry barrels on, “ -- Especially when you _came to space_ just so you wouldn’t have to deal with -- ” 

“It’s not the same!” Louis shouts, hands screwing up into fists. “That’s -- It’s not the same because I was wrong and he didn’t like me, so you can fuck off. Everyone knows Malik’s gone for you, he fucking follows you around like a puppy and stares at you with heart eyes. People on the ground probably know that Zayn wants you, okay? So get over yourself and talk to him.” Louis stomps out of the room, dumping the bag of M &Ms on Harry’s lap as he goes, the candy scattering all over his lap and the floor. 

Harry sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Louis is probably right. He usually is, and as much as it annoys Harry, it’s also weirdly comforting. Louis wouldn’t steer him wrong, even if Harry’s just pissed him off by unnecessarily bringing up the unrequited love of his life. 

_I’ll have to apologize for that_ Harry thinks, scooping up the candy and standing. He’s got something to take care of, first. 

\--- 

Harry doesn’t approach Zayn about it until a few days later, when they’re on the observation deck. He’s endured more tense conversations than he can count recently, what with Louis still being annoyed at him and Zayn seemingly intent on making Harry die of confusion and sexual frustration. 

He’d come up here to get away, maybe clear his head a little, but of course Zayn’s already here, like he’s waiting or something. Maybe he was. 

“Hi,” Harry says awkwardly from the doorway, chewing on his bottom lip. Zayn seems to brighten when he sees him, his face erupting into a smile. Harry’s chest feels like it might explode. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Always,” Zayn says as Harry walks closer. “Got something for you, first.” 

He pulls out another banana, as yellow as the first but a little bigger. Harry snorts, laughs because he’s strangely, suddenly close to bursting into tears. “Guess it really was a banana in your pocket,” he says, taking the fruit. Zayn laughs and their hands brush, sending sparks straight to Harry’s heart. 

He can’t do this anymore. 

“Zayn,” he says, his voice sounding wobbly. He can’t believe a banana has made him this emotional. “You have to -- you have to know I’m attracted to you.” 

Zayn stills, the smile fading off his face. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Harry wonders if he’s just going to have to pretend he didn’t say it at all. He takes a breath to respond, but Zayn finally says, “I know.” 

Harry’s breath rushes out of him. “Then -- God, then what are you --” He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you just ignoring it, or what?” 

“It’s easier if we’re not involved,” Zayn says stiffly, looking away. 

It feels like there’s lead in Harry’s chest. “So you want to ignore it,” he says, voice gone flat. “Even though -- ” 

Zayn interrupts him. “It’s for the best, Harry.” 

“Right, sure.” Harry rolls his eyes. “But do you -- ” He cuts himself off, not knowing what to say. _Do you like me too, or do you just like messing me around_ , he wants to ask, but he’s too afraid of the answer to actually do it. 

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Do I what?” 

Harry steels himself, grits his teeth and looks out the window at the Earth, bright and oblivious. “Do you not feel the same?” 

“Harry.” Zayn’s voice has gone unreadable, and when Harry glances back at him, his face is blank. 

“Just answer the question,” Harry says, voice hard. 

Zayn sighs. “That’s not what it means, no.” 

Harry’s heart jumps into his throat. _Don’t hope, don’t hope for too much._ “Then what does it mean?” 

“It means it’s easier if we’re not involved, Harry,” Zayn says. Harry bites the inside of his cheek. _Then you shouldn’t have been fucking flirting with me,_ he thinks. “We’re not -- I’m no good at people. At relationships, like.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Harry clears his throat. He should give it up, he knows, but he just can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. “So you don’t want to try?” 

“It’s not that,” Zayn says, though, it sounds like that’s pretty much exactly what it is, from where Harry’s standing. “I just -- I don’t want to hurt you. Come on, it’s better this way. You’ll see.” 

_You’re hurting me right now,_ Harry thinks. He turns back to the window, realizing, stupidly, that the banana’s still clutched in his hand. 

“Fine,” he says, proud that he doesn’t cry. “If that’s what you want, fine.” 

Zayn doesn’t answer. 

\--- 

Harry presses his finger on the buzzer of Louis’ quarters for a full two minutes before the door opens. It’s early afternoon, and Louis looks like he’s just woken up from a nap. He probably had the night shift. 

“I was asleep,” Louis grumbles at him. 

“I talked to Zayn about how I feel,” Harry says in response. Louis stares at him incredulously for a moment, then steps aside for Harry to come in. 

“So what happened?” Louis asks after the door closes. “Because if you woke me up to tell me one of your weird sex stories, I will actually murder you.” 

“He admitted to liking me,” Harry says. “And said he didn’t want to be with me.” 

Louis goes quiet, staring at Harry from the door. Harry knows the only thing worse for Louis than being wrong about something is being right _and_ wrong at the same time. People are predictable until they aren’t, Louis likes to say, and while it’s an oddly reassuring platitude for Harry, it’s also something Louis says when he wants to seem deep and all-knowing. He doesn’t like when it’s true. 

“Hazza,” he says, voice soft and sort of helpless. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry says, “I want to eat things that are terrible for me and don’t taste like space paste and I want to watch stupid movies and cuddle.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding. “We can do that.” 

Harry sighs, his shoulders slumping. Not for the first time, he’s ridiculously glad for friends who will go with him to space. 

\--- 

As it turns out, Louis knows Niall from Life Services, the same one who’s been supplying Zayn with bananas for Harry, and sends a carrier up with a basket full of food. 

“This is the opposite of junk food,” Harry says, drawing out apples and more bananas and -- God, a _pineapple_. 

“Yeah, but it’s all things you like, so that’s what counts,” Louis says, and opens the bottom drawer in his closet space. “Besides, I’ve got the junk food covered,” he adds, and pulls out bags and bags of candy. 

“You’re a gift to humankind,” Harry says seriously. 

“I know,” Louis says, and Harry laughs. 

They spend the night gorging themselves and watching the stupidest movies they can find on the station’s database. They fall asleep on the floor and when Harry wakes his back aches something awful, but it’s worth it for how much better he feels about Zayn. Who cares if Zayn gave him some bullshit excuse? Harry’s leaving in three months anyway. It doesn’t matter. 

\--- 

Harry’s woken by the incessant buzz of his doorbell, duller and more irritating than his communication device. He’s not sure how long it’s been buzzing by the time he rolls out of his bed, but he figures it’s only Louis getting back at him for the other day. Probably. He doesn’t know who else it’d be. 

He smashes his hand down on the open button, fixing a scowl on his face. Honestly, he’s less grumpy than he should be for getting woken in the middle of the night. Of course, the door slides open and it’s not Louis. That’s just Harry’s luck. 

It’s Zayn. 

“Oh,” Harry says, startled. He blinks a couple of times, trying to figure out if maybe he’s dreaming. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Zayn says, rubbing a hand over his chin, his gaze sliding over Harry’s body so slowly that Harry can practically feel it. Everyone’s always telling him he needs to sleep in more than a pair of underwear and (sometimes) a t-shirt. He wishes he’d listened to them. 

“Hi,” Harry repeats, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you -- is there some sort of problem?” 

“What?” Zayn’s gaze snaps back to Harry’s face, his brow furrowed. “Problem?” 

“With like, the system, or something?” Harry waves a hand around. He can’t really think of another reason Zayn would show up at his door in the middle of the night. Well, he can, but Zayn’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want that. So. Harry’s at a bit of a loss. 

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “No, no, I just -- ” He pauses, licking his lips. “I just wanted to say I was sorry. For leading you on, like.” 

“You didn’t,” Harry says, even though he kind of did. “I knew you didn’t want -- ” He waves his hand about again. “ -- Whatever. You know? You were clear about that. Please don’t feel badly.” 

Zayn sighs, rubbing at his chin still. He’s got quite a bit of stubble there, like he hasn’t shaved it in a few days, and Harry’s sleep-slow brain can’t help but wonder what it might feel like on his skin. If it’s coarse or if it’s soft like the rest of the hair on Zayn’s head, if it might leave red marks on his thighs and neck and stomach. 

“I wasn’t clear,” Zayn says eventually, snapping Harry out of his fantasy. It’s for the best; his underwear don’t leave much to the imagination. “When I told you before. I wasn’t clear, and that’s not fair.” 

“Okay,” Harry says slowly. He pauses, but Zayn doesn’t say anything more. “Do you want me to ask you?” 

“No.” Zayn shakes his head. “Just a second, I -- It’s hard.” 

Harry’s tired enough that he he just nods, and then gestures for Zayn to come in. “Might as well be comfortable about it,” he says, leading Zayn to his little couch. Zayn glances around the room, seemingly taking in what little decoration Harry’s managed to put into his space. It’s not much, just some tapestries from home hanging on the walls, some pictures, a few candles that he isn’t permitted to light. 

Zayn turns toward him when Harry takes a seat, hands resting on his knees. He doesn’t say anything. Normally, Harry’s fairly good-natured about this sort of thing, more than happy to let someone gather their thoughts and take their time, but he’s just been woken up and he hadn’t slept for very long. His patience is pretty much non-existent. 

“So,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

“Right,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I um -- I guess I’ll start with -- You asked me if I felt the same way. If I was attracted to you.” 

Harry’s heart leaps into his throat. Zayn’s really going for it, then. Christ. “Yeah,” Harry says, nodding. 

“I was. I am, I mean, attracted to you.” 

Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he breathes, without meaning to. Zayn’s vague answer before had been enough for Harry to guess how he felt, but this is -- Hearing Zayn say it is very different. It’s a lot. 

“But the other stuff I said is true too,” Zayn adds, and Harry’s hope crashes down again. “I’m not good at being a boyfriend.” 

_Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend_. Christ, Harry can’t get the sound of it out of his head. 

“I never said I wanted to be your boyfriend,” Harry blurts, and then makes a face, because that really isn’t what he meant. “No, wait, I’m sorry. I meant like. I dunno. When we spoke before, I was just trying to let you know. Be honest, and all that. I wasn’t trying to like, put pressure on you.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn says, nodding. “I’m one of those people who puts pressure on themselves, so don’t worry about it.” 

Harry snorts. “Yeah, okay. But what did you mean? About the boyfriend, thing.” 

“Ah.” Zayn rubs his hand over his chin again, and Harry resists the urge to take it and twine their fingers. He’s got to let Zayn explain. He knows that. “I just meant that I’m not good at it, y’know? Communication, and stuff.” 

Harry nudges him with his shoulder. “Seem to be doing alright now,” he says, and Zayn laughs but shakes his head. 

“Too late,” he says, “Days after the first conversation. I’ll run before I fight, you know? And I’ve got a pretty big temper.” 

“So, what, you think I can’t handle you?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows this is supposed to be Zayn discouraging him from wanting him, but Harry’s always been stubborn. “I’ve been friends with Louis for going on ten years and I’m pretty sure he’s been angry at me for seven of them. I know how to handle a temper and if you run, I’ll chase you. Every time.” He reaches out, taking Zayn’s hand. Zayn doesn’t pull away and it feels like a miracle. 

Harry leans in tentatively, giving Zayn time to lean away. He doesn’t. Harry presses his forehead to Zayn’s, glad they’re holding hands because he’s sure his would be shaking embarrassingly hard. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” Harry murmurs, squeezing Zayn’s hand. “Really. I’m not. But I’m just saying. I’m here, if you want me. If you decide it’s worth it.” 

“I know it would be,” Zayn says, breath ghosting along Harry’s lips, making him shiver. 

“Then go for it,” Harry says, and tilts his head. Zayn must do it too, because their mouths meet sooner than Harry expects and it catches him off guard, makes his breath catch in his chest with surprise and he huffs out what air he has left through his nose. 

Zayn pulls away quickly, too quickly for Harry to really even register what kissing him is like. 

“For the record,” Zayn says, “I still think you’ll regret this.” 

“For the record,” Harry answers, fisting his free hand in Zayn’s shirt and pulling him closer, “I really don’t care.” 

\--- 

Zayn goes back to his own quarters a few kiss-filled hours later. They don’t do anything more than make out like teenagers, but it’s enough for Harry to feel dazed with it as Zayn leaves. 

He rubs a hand over his mouth and chin, raw and stinging from Zayn’s stubble and nearly whimpers with the memory of Zayn’s stupidly soft mouth. He’s hard, been hard since Zayn’s hands wandered from Harry’s hair to his shirt and under it. Zayn hadn’t done anything about it and Harry hadn’t pressed him, because he’s not rude and he figured the kissing was enough for now. 

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from spreading out on his bed and getting a hand down his underwear to pull himself off. He’s so worked up that it barely takes any time, just a few quick strokes and remembering the quiet sound Zayn made every time Harry put a hand to his arse and rolled their hips together. 

He’d feel guilty about wanking to Zayn if he weren’t a hundred percent certain that Zayn was doing the exact same thing. Harry’d felt how hard he was just before he’d pulled away for the last time. There’s no way he didn’t do something to take care of it. 

Fighting off the onslaught of fatigue, Harry cleans himself up and snuggles back into bed, falling asleep with a smile on his face. Unsurprisingly, he sleeps through the night. 

\--- 

On the walk to command the next morning, Harry manages to convince himself he’s made a terrible mistake. Every step closer makes his insides seize up, and by the time he makes it to the right floor, he has to pause outside the corridor to take some deep breaths. He’s being ridiculous. Just because Zayn had said he’d run before he’d fight doesn’t mean -- It’s ridiculous for Harry to think that he’d run right now. Illogical. Besides, he hadn’t exactly seemed disappointed by last night. 

He forces himself to turn down the corridor, his body flooding with relief when he spots Zayn outside the doors, as usual. 

“Hey,” he says, nudging Zayn with the toe of his boot. Zayn looks up at him and smiles, slow and easy. 

“Hey,” he answers, and stands. Harry knocks their hips together before the door slides open and smiles at him. Zayn huffs out a laugh and walks past him, his hand passing over Harry’s back as he goes. Harry watches him for a moment, reveling in how blessedly un-awkward it is, before following him into the room. 

It’s as easy as that. He can’t believe he managed to freak himself out so badly. 

\--- 

Later that day, Harry’s working so intently on his work that he loses track of time. He loses track of everything, actually, as all the noise in command becomes static buzzing in his ears and he forgets that there are other people in the room with him. It doesn’t really matter, since most of what they do is solitary work, but usually Harry will take a break or two and talk. Not today, apparently. Not today. 

A hard tap on the shoulder jolts Harry out of his zone and he jumps a little, his hand going to his chest like a shocked old lady. Christ, that’s embarrassing. He turns, but of course it’s only Zayn. 

“Lunch time,” Zayn says. “Need your brain food.” 

Harry laughs, feeling shaky from the fright and probably also hunger. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “Makes me sound like a zombie,” he answers when he stands, and Zayn doesn’t laugh but he does roll his eyes like he’s trying not to smile. Harry counts it as a win. 

They make their way to the mess hall and get their lunches, taking their usual seats near the back, uncrowded corner of the room. They must be late to eat, because the place is surprisingly empty, but Harry doesn’t mind. His silence with Zayn is never uncomfortable. Or, it rarely is, so he’s content to sit there and eat his freeze dried lunch. 

Today Zayn looks a bit preoccupied, fidgety and poking at his food more than actually eating it. Harry frowns as he watches him, eventually nudging Zayn’s leg with his foot. 

“Y’alright?” he asks, once Zayn’s looked up at him. Zayn nods, twists his mouth like he’s thinking hard about something and looks up at Harry, his face serious. A feeling settles in Harry’s chest, something tight and uneasy. 

“D’you want to go somewhere with me after work?” Zayn asks. Harry blinks. It’s not what Harry expected him to say. “After we’re done for the day, I mean.” 

“Sure,” Harry says, smile stretching on his face as Zayn’s cheeks pink up. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zayn get embarrassed before. It’s brilliant. “Is it a date?” 

Zayn’s flush deepens. “Nah, not yet. Just someone I want you to meet.” 

“Oh.” Harry purses his lips, trying not to feel disappointed. He feels Zayn’s boot nudge his a moment later. 

“Soon though, yeah? I’ll woo you properly.” 

Harry chews on his bottom lip. “You promise?” 

Zayn grins at him, hooking his foot around Harry’s ankle under the table. “Promise.” 

\--- 

Zayn takes him to the lower levels after work, down to Life Services and the space farms. Harry hasn’t spent much time down here, as it’s one of the only specialized levels he hasn’t had any say in implementing. He designed the whole station, of course, but the particulars of this level don’t involve his expertise, which is just as well because Harry doubts any of the scientists want to watch him bumble around. 

Still, he hasn’t seen it since he first arrived on the station two months ago, when the crew were just getting it started. Then it’d been an endless stretch of white, pristine walls and stainless steel equipment littered about. It’d seemed hollow, empty and terrifyingly sterile. Harry had a hard time believing they’d actually grow anything there. Now, though, it’s full of people milling around in their pale yellow flight suits, laughing with each other and tinkering with the equipment. Harry can see a peek of green in the corner, behind a large partition wall that’s definitely a new addition. 

“Wow,” he says. “This is amazing.” 

“It’s my favorite place,” Zayn says quietly, and Harry’s head snaps to him. “Besides the observatory. Love it down here.” 

“Oh, wow.” Harry isn’t sure what to do with the information. It’s not that he doesn’t care, because he does. He cares a lot about what Zayn likes and where he goes in his spare time and, well, everything. He wants to know everything about Zayn that he can, but Zayn’s frustratingly tight-lipped. Any piece of knowledge is a precious jewel that Harry has to keep very safe. He doesn’t know whether to ask for more or let Zayn tell him at his own pace. 

No, scratch that. Harry’s definitely going to try his luck. 

“How did you find it?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He realizes how stupid the question sounds only after he’s said it aloud. 

“Took the elevator,” Zayn says with a shrug and a grin so mischievous it rivals Louis’. 

“Fuck off,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, did you go looking for it on purpose or did you just happen to find your way down here?” 

Zayn’s quiet for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. “Both,” he admits finally with a half-shrug. “I thought maybe I could find something that reminded me of home.” 

Harry gazes at him, then nudges him softly with his elbow. “Did you find it?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding. He’s not looking at Harry, seems incapable of turning his head. “I did.” 

“I’m glad.” 

Zayn doesn’t answer, just rubs a hand over his mouth and clears his throat. “C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“Okay,” Harry says softly, and goes. 

Zayn takes him to meet Niall, who turns out to be sunshine in human form, peroxide blond and with an infectious laugh. He’s not brash, not exactly, but he seems almost too big for the station, like if he was given the chance, he could shine as bright as any star. Harry likes him, and immediately understands why Louis and Zayn have befriended him. It’d be hard not to, honestly. 

“So you’re the one that’s got Zayn holed up on the upper levels,” Niall says, leaning against his work station. It’s one of the silver pieces of equipment. It looks sort of like Harry’s step-dad’s grill, a big hood atop a rectangular base. The only difference is that it’s got plants inside, and various hoses stemming off it and leading all over the place. 

“Suppose I am,” Harry answers, shrugging. 

“Good. It’s good for him to be busy, I think.” 

“I’m right here,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. Niall laughs and pats his face -- Zayn’s _face!!_ \-- and Harry has a surge of envy at how comfortable they seem. 

“Have you two known each other long?” 

“Not really,” Niall answers. “Just since the day he wandered in asking about fruits.” Niall laughs again and rolls his eyes as if to say _this guy, right?_

Zayn’s face has gone all flushed, like he’s embarrassed, and Harry’s torn between feeling badly for him and finding it ridiculously cute. 

“Love a good mango,” he says with a nod, smiling when Zayn shoots him a relieved look. Harry turns back to Niall. “D’you have one?” 

Niall raises an eyebrow at him. “Mangoes? Nah, not yet. Eventually maybe. Still working out all the -- ” He waves his hand around. “ -- You know.” 

“Right,” Harry says, even though he’s not really sure. He supposes he can guess though. Zayn asks Niall something about one of his plants and Niall launches into a lengthy explanation of everything he’s been doing and will do, apparently. Harry zones in and out of listening to him. He’s interested in what Niall has to say, but he’s also interested in watching Zayn listen to him. He’s so engaged, is the thing, and Harry’s rarely ever seen him this into something that isn’t Harry’s notes or staring out the big observatory window. Harry hasn’t had many chances to observe Zayn, so as much as he cares about what Niall’s working on, he’s also not going to pass up a prime Zayn-watching opportunity. 

Okay, that’s a little creepier than he means, but, still. 

They have to leave when one of the other researchers -- space farmers, Niall calls them, which delights Harry to no end -- shows up and demands Niall’s attention about something. Niall passes them some fruit before he goes and they make their way up to the living quarters. 

Zayn walks Harry to his door -- which absolutely does not make him swoon, thank you -- and takes his hand once they stop in front of it. He doesn’t say anything, just links their hands and looks down at them, leaving Harry to look at the top of his head. Not that he’s complaining. He’ll gladly look at any part of Zayn. 

“Thank you for taking me down there,” Harry says quietly, when the silence gets to be too much. He squeezes Zayn’s fingers gently, biting down on a smile when Zayn takes a half-step forward and beams up at him. Christ, he feels like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

“Thanks for going with me,” Zayn says, standing straight. He takes another half-step into Harry’s space, pulling gently on Harry’s arms with their intertwined hands. Harry feels the tug all over his body, most concentrated as a steep swooping in his belly and he sways forward, off-balance. Zayn catches him with his free hand, wrapping an arm around his waist. Harry blushes, only partly due to the embarrassment. 

“My hero,” he murmurs, and doesn’t give Zayn a chance to reply before he’s kissing him. Zayn’s fingers tighten around Harry’s, his body tense for a split second and then he’s relaxing, stepping right up against Harry and kissing him back. It’s just as good as the first time, Zayn’s mouth soft and warm against his, his free hand smoothing up Harry’s spine and cupping the nape of his neck. He does something with his tongue that makes Harry’s knees go weak, makes him fall heavily against the door with a gasp, pulling Zayn along with him. 

He pleads for the stupid thing not to open under him. 

Zayn lands against him, knocking Harry’s breath out with a little puff and a bit of a wheeze. 

Harry leans his forehead against Zayn’s, catching his breath. “Coming in?” he asks, staring at Zayn’s mouth. 

Zayn squeezes Harry’s hand where they’re still tangled up and nods. “If you’ll have me.” 

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. “If I’ll have you,” he says, muttering incredulously as he stands and turns, keeping a firm grip on Zayn’s hand. He punches the button to open the door, and hauls Zayn through once it has. 

“Who do you think I am,” he says, backing Zayn against the wall, pinning him. 

Zayn looks up at him, something honest and searching in his eyes. He leans forward. “Think you’re just you.” 

Harry kisses him again instead of answering. 

\--- 

“What did you mean earlier,” Harry says, sitting up suddenly and rolling over, straddling Zayn’s thighs. He ducks his head, making sure not to knock it on the roof of his bunk. The ceiling isn’t too low, thankfully, but still. Harry doesn’t want to take the chance. Zayn makes a confused noise under him, his eyes blinking open. They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours, the slow burn of arousal simmering low in Harry’s gut for ages, flaring every time Zayn deigns to touch him anywhere not covered by clothing. 

Harry looks down at him. Zayn’s neck’s gone all flushed, as well as the tops of his cheeks. Harry wants to lick them, but he restrains himself. There’s time for that. 

“Um,” Zayn says, clearly trying to catch his breath. “I don’t -- What?” 

“What did you mean earlier,” Harry repeats, leaning down slowly and pressing a kiss to Zayn’s mouth. He pulls away, nipping at Zayn’s chin when he chases him and focuses his attention on Zayn’s neck. “When you said you’d found something from home down at the space farm. What did you mean?” 

“Um -- _fuck_ , Harry -- I dunno,” Zayn answers, a hand coming up to tangle in Harry’s curls. His hair’s completely wrecked, he knows it must be from the way Zayn’s been tugging on it for the past half hour. Zayn pulls him up and away, and Harry pouts at him. He knows it’s not fair to ask a question like that in the middle of this, but he also knows how hard it is for people to deny Harry anything he wants when he looks like this. 

“You don’t know?” Harry nudges their mouths together, rolls his hips down. “Or you don’t want to tell me?” 

“Harry,” Zayn says warningly, hand tightening in the front of Harry’s t-shirt. They’ve lost the flight suits, at least. “You sneak.” 

Harry grins down at him for a moment and then softens, “You don’t have to answer, promise. Just thought I’d try.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says on a breath, both his hands settling on Harry’s hips. Harry resists the urge to grind down again. Seems counterproductive to getting his answer, is all. Not that the only reason he started this was to get an answer, but still. Harry’s in a luck-pushing mood today, apparently. 

Harry stares down at him, “So?” 

Zayn sighs, squeezing Harry’s hips briefly before looking up at him. “So what?” 

“So,” Harry parrots, leaning down a fraction of an inch. “What did you find?” 

“I found Niall,” Zayn says, running a hand over Harry’s thigh. He’s just in his boxer shorts, and the feel of Zayn’s skin on his makes that arousal flare up again. It would be so easy to -- No. Okay. Focus. 

“Yeah? He reminds you of home?” 

“In a way. The good parts of it, at least.” Zayn shrugs. He runs his hand up Harry’s thigh again, his thumb brushing the sensitive inner skin. Harry shivers, and Zayn grins up at him, predatory. 

“Good, that’s good,” Harry says faintly, and kisses him again. Zayn kisses back, hot and firm under him, pulling Harry down so their chests touch. He rolls his hips up and Harry moans, startled by the friction, the feel of Zayn hard against him. 

Zayn looks up at him, rolls their hips together again. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answers, grinding down. They kiss again, a hot slide with a hint of teeth. Zayn wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, hand on his bum, guiding their hips together in a sloppy grind. Zayn’s free hand grips the base of Harry’s skull, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and breaks away to pant against Zayn’s mouth, trying to get ahold of himself. Zayn keeps moving, fucking their hips together at just the right angle. Harry’s cock is so hard that it’s gone wet at the tip, dampening his pants, making the slide that much easier. 

“Shit, Zayn,” Harry pants, leaning an arm against the wall behind Zayn, moaning loudly as Zayn’s lip attach to the base of his neck. He grinds his hips down as Zayn’s mouth works, whimpering when Zayn’s hands grip his arse tightly and move him faster. 

Harry leans down, hitting his forehead against Zayn’s clumsily, ignoring the pain until Zayn tilts his head up and Harry can kiss him again. 

Zayn pulls away. Harry chases his mouth. “Can you come like this?” Zayn asks breathlessly, one of his hands moving around to Harry’s stomach, sliding up over his chest. His fingers catch on a nipple, the fabric of his shirt making it that much more intense and he gives a short groan, trying to keep it in. 

“Dunno,” he says finally, “Maybe.” 

“Don’t like maybes,” Zayn mumbles, and then his hand is sliding back down, palming Harry’s cock through his boxers. 

Harry hisses, his hips jerking into the touch. “Fuck, please Zayn,” he says, grappling with his free hand to do the same to Zayn. “Touch me, please.” 

“I will if you do,” Zayn says, and slides his hand into Harry’s boxers. 

It doesn’t take long, all told. Just Zayn’s clever hand working him over, maybe a minute or two before Harry’s spilling into his fist and all over their laps. He leans heavily against the wall once he’s done, chest heaving, still palming Zayn through his pants. 

“My turn,” he says, sliding his hand through the mess on Zayn’s belly and using it to make the stroke of his hand slick. If Zayn thinks it’s gross he doesn’t mention it, just hisses out a “fuck, Christ Harry,” and fucks up into Harry’s fist. Watching Zayn come feels like a privilege, seeing his body shake and his thighs tremble afterward as Harry milks out the last bit left. 

Harry moves off Zayn’s lap, flopping onto the bed on his side, peering up at Zayn’s sweaty skin. 

“Good?” he asks, because he’s nothing if not predictable. Zayn looks over at him and laughs. 

“Yeah, it was,” he says, leaning over to kiss him. “Thank you.” 

Harry smiles, pleased. “You’re very welcome. Grab a towel, would you?” 

“Don’t need one,” Zayn says, and wipes his hand on Harry’s shirt before he can even open his mouth. Harry stares down at the stain and then looks up at Zayn. His mouth twitches, like he might laugh, and Harry glares at him. 

“You’re going to regret that,” he says, and tackles him. 

\--- 

Meeting Niall seems to open up a bit of a floodgate in Zayn. After their mid-coitus conversation, it’s easier for Harry to get a (mostly) straight answer out of him, and while it’s not always the speediest process -- Harry’s very easily distracted, unfortunately -- he’s always satisfied by the end, in one way or another. 

Sure, he’d like to know _why_ Zayn’s still weird when talking about Earth, or why he’s vague when Harry asks about his family, or why, once, when Harry asked if he wanted to sit in the room while Harry had a video call with his family Zayn shook his head and got a faraway sort of look on his face for hours afterward. He’s naturally curious, so obviously he’d like to know those things, but he also knows that Zayn will tell him when he’s ready. Harry trusts him. 

Still, Harry knows enough. He knows that Zayn doesn’t eat pork and that he loves music with a good beat and he loves to dance, even though he thinks he’s terrible at it. He knows Zayn can sing, like really sing, and that he knows a lot about art. He knows Zayn loves the color red, and that he can watch the Earth turn for hours on end. He knows that Zayn loves to be thoroughly kissed and loves it when Harry’s thoroughly kissed. He knows Zayn hates the freeze dried food as much as Harry does, and he knows that Zayn hasn’t been to a restaurant on the ground in years. In fact, Zayn’s not been to the ground for more than a few weeks at a time for four years, apparently. It’s something that Harry can’t fathom. Everything in space is so small, which is ironic because it’s a vast, endless expanse of everything, but maybe that’s why the station feels exceptionally tiny most days. It is tiny, in the grand scheme of things. 

“What do you miss the most?” 

Harry asks it one day while they’re eating in his quarters. He’s never been to Zayn’s quarters, because apparently they’re further from command and the mess and it’s easier to just stop here. Harry’s not entirely sure about it, but it’s not like he really minds, as long as Zayn’s with him. 

Zayn looks up from his chicken and raises his eyebrow. 

“What do you miss the most about the ground,” Harry repeats. “I, for one, miss my mum. And her cooking.” 

He tosses his half-eaten tray of food onto the table with a grimace and turns to Zayn. “Your turn.” 

Zayn pokes at his chicken. It looks truly disgusting. 

“I miss my mum too,” he says quietly, still looking down. Harry freezes and immediately wants to smack himself for it. _Don’t make a big deal out of it_ , he tells himself. _Just be cool_. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks softly, nudging him with his socked foot. Zayn nods, placing his own tray down on the table next to Harry’s and half-turns toward him. 

“Yeah. My sisters, too.” 

Something soars in Harry’s chest. _Be cool, you berk_. “Didn’t know you had sisters.” 

Zayn smiles, still not quite looking at Harry, but some place just over his shoulder. He’s got that familiar faraway look in his eye, but it’s happier this time, like wherever he’s gone is someplace nice. “Three. Doniya, Waliyha and Safaa.” 

“Wow.” It feels like a gift, Zayn telling him this. “How old are they?” 

Zayn’s brow furrows, and he looks at Harry finally, like he’s just remembered he’s there. He doesn’t answer for a moment. “Doniya’s older. Then Waliyha and Safaa.” 

Not really what Harry meant, but he’ll take it. He’ll take it. “Thanks for telling me,” he says, scooting closer on the couch. Zayn smiles at him, lifting an arm for Harry to slip under. A silence settles over them, halfway between tense and comfortable, and Harry really wants to ask more, but everything’s so nice that he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he kisses Zayn’s cheek and launches into a story about his embarrassing teenage years. 

\--- 

Days turn into weeks that lead into a month and life goes on. Harry continues in his routine of working, eating and messing around with Zayn. Well, not that he’d call what he and Zayn are doing _messing around_ , per se, but there is quite a bit of canoodling happening. Just. In general. Not at work, because they’re at least semi-professional, but definitely after hours. 

Zayn’s just so pretty, is the thing, and Harry’s always had terrible self control. 

Despite time moving forward, Harry hits a bit of a wall in terms of Things to Know About Zayn. He’d asked more questions after learning Zayn has sisters, but he’d gotten vague non-answers. Sometimes Zayn would flat out ignore him or say he didn’t want to talk about it. Which is fine, obviously, because it’s Zayn’s life and Harry can respect that, and he appreciates that Zayn will tell him when he doesn’t want to talk about it, but still. It’s just -- Harry just wants to know more. He can’t help himself. 

To make things even stranger, Zayn’s walked in on him talking to his mum and sister over the comm device more than once. It’s not a big deal, because mostly they talk about what the extended family’s doing or the little details of their lives, but all three times that it’s happened, Zayn’s gotten a sort of panicked look on his face and retreated from the room faster than Harry can even greet him. Harry knows they’re not like, permanent boyfriends probably because he’s leaving and Zayn’s hellbent on staying up here, but he doesn’t really understand why he can’t at least say hi to his mum. It’s not as if she’ll come through the screen and bite him. 

As a result, Harry’s taken to warning Zayn each time he calls his family, just so the awkwardness can be avoided. It’s difficult for Harry to focus on getting someone off when he’s stuck wondering why they seem allergic to family. 

Louis is as unhelpful as ever on the topic, so eventually Harry stops asking him when they spend time together. All in all, it’s not a great situation. 

Well, alright, Harry shouldn’t think of it like that. The whole situation is actually pretty great. He’s regularly hooking up with a ridiculously fit bloke and he’s firmly on time for his deadline in two months. Spending time with Zayn relaxes him, so when he has to go to the command deck in the mornings, he’s ready and focused and gets all his tasks done. He hasn’t had to go on a work binge in weeks. It’s great. It would just be better if Zayn would like, let him in, and stuff. 

\--- 

Just because Zayn won’t tell him anything doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t try to get it out of him. One of his many talents is wearing people down -- by charm or other methods -- and Zayn’s just proving a bit tougher to wear down, is all. That doesn’t keep Harry from asking the questions. 

“What’s your mum’s name?” 

They’re laying in Zayn’s bed, the covers rucked up and pushed to the bottom, both of them shirtless and wearing only their pants. Harry’s surprised they’ve got that much on, actually. He’s only been in here a handful of times, but he likes it. The covers smell like Zayn and the walls are covered in eclectic abstract artwork. Zayn’s sitting up against the wall, one leg stretched out, his foot under Harry’s thigh. Harry’s splayed out on his back, looking up at Zayn. He’s not sure whether or not he’s going to get an answer. Zayn’s been in a strange mood all day. 

“Tricia,” Zayn says finally. “Dad’s Yaser, before you ask.” 

Harry flashes him a smile and sits up to face Zayn. “Thank you,” he says, leaning over Zayn’s legs and into his space a bit. “When’s the last time you saw them?” 

Zayn’s eyes flash to his, something -- something confused in them. “What?” 

“The last time you were on leave? When was it?” 

“Oh.” Zayn looks down, away. “Before this. Visited them in Bradford.” 

Harry lets out a small breath. He’s trying to tread carefully because Zayn’s clearly uncomfortable, but it’s proving difficult. He’s got a load of questions running through his head, and he’s trying not to blurt them all out at once. “You haven’t spoken to them since?” 

Zayn doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look back up. He shakes his head though, his fingers messing with a loose thread on the sheets. 

“Why don’t you call them? You miss them, yeah?” 

“Harry,” Zayn says on a sigh, but Harry’s not going to let this go. 

“I’m sure whatever’s happened can’t be that big of an issue. Just call them.” 

Zayn laughs, a hollow sound wrenching its way out of his throat. “Trust me, I can’t. You should let it go.” 

“But -- ” 

“Drop it, Harry,” Zayn snaps, and Harry clamps his mouth shut, eyes going wide. Zayn’s never gotten cross with him before. Christ, he’s being ridiculous, isn’t he? He knew Zayn didn’t want to talk about it and he tried it anyway. He’s really got to stop doing that. He trusts that Zayn will tell him what he needs to know. He just needs to remember that. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, scooting closer, putting his hand over Zayn’s on the sheets. “I didn’t mean to push.” 

“No, it’s -- ” Zayn shakes his head and turns his hand so his palm presses into Harry’s. “I’m sorry, yeah? It’s hard for me to talk about it. I didn’t mean to snap. Sorry.” 

He lifts Harry’s hand up to his mouth and kisses the top of it. Harry smiles at him, his breath hitching a moment later when Zayn turns his hand over and kisses his palm. 

“I dunno,” Harry says, making sure his tone is teasing, “You might need to make it up to me.” 

“Oh yeah?” Zayn lifts an eyebrow, clearly having caught on. 

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, leaning closer. “M’fragile.” 

Zayn grins at him, half-laughing, and hauls him in to kiss him. It’s sweet at first, Zayn’s free hand cradling Harry’s jaw and the light pressure of Zayn’s mouth making Harry’s lips tingle pleasantly. Harry doesn’t really want sweet, though, not right now. He tilts his head and presses closer, nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip until he opens up and Harry can swipe his tongue inside to turn it dirty. Zayn moans against his mouth, squeezing at Harry’s hip before his hand slides down, gripping his bum. 

Harry pulls away for a breath, pressing his arse back into Zayn’s hand. “I think you should fuck me,” he says, leaning in to kiss Zayn again. He’s stopped by a hand on his chest. 

“You’re sure?” Zayn’s looking at him carefully, more serious than usual. Harry smiles, trying to reassure him. 

He kisses Zayn on the mouth, quick and soft. “Yes, I promise I’m sure I want you to fuck me.” A horrible thought creeps up on him, and he sits back. “Unless you don’t want to?” 

Zayn practically tackles him to the bed, their legs tangling and all the air in Harry’s chest getting knocked out of him as they land. Zayn pushes himself up onto his elbows, leaning over Harry. 

“I’m very sure I’d like to fuck you, babe,” he says, smiling all crinkly-eyed down at Harry. Butterflies erupt in Harry’s stomach and he smiles widely up at Zayn, giddy. 

“Then I definitely think you ought to do that.” 

“Yeah?” Zayn leans down and kisses him. “You do?” 

“I do,” Harry says, leaning up to meet his mouth. Zayn moves just out of reach, smiling when Harry whines, a mischievous edge to it. 

“Patience,” he says, laughing when Harry lets out a petulant huff. He leans over the edge of the bed, opening one of the drawers hidden under the unit. He re-emerges a few moments later with a bottle of lube and a foil packet; Harry spreads his legs, pleased when Zayn settles between them, leaning down to kiss him. 

They kiss for a long time, longer than Harry really means to, actually, but he gets distracted by Zayn’s mouth, his sharp teeth sinking into Harry’s lips over and over only to have his soft tongue soothe the hurt moments later. By the time Zayn pulls away for the lube, Harry’s mouth feels bruised and swollen and his cock’s fully hard, bulging out the front of his pants. 

He slides them off when Zayn sits back, licking his lips and letting his eyes roam over Zayn’s body. “Your turn,” he says, nudging him in the hip with his toes. “How d’you want me?” 

Zayn pulls off his underwear, and Harry lets himself get distracted by the sight of his cock coming free, slapping up against his belly. He’d like to get it in his mouth, but knows if he did that, he probably wouldn’t get fucked, and he’d like that more. So. 

“Want you just like that,” Zayn says, sitting up on his knees and grabbing a pillow to shove under Harry’s hips. He gets the lube, a reflexive shiver going down Harry’s spine at the sight of Zayn getting his fingers wet. He does love Zayn’s fingers. 

He hooks a leg loosely around Zayn’s hips as he knee-walks closer, shivering again when Zayn’s slick fingers skim over his hole. 

“Want to see your pretty face when you come on my cock,” Zayn murmurs, leaning down to kiss Harry as he slides a finger in. Harry moans as Zayn stretches him, a second finger quickly joining the first and then a third. They’ve gotten this far before, Zayn finger-fucking Harry and sucking his cock at the same time, usually making him come so hard that he’s useless afterward. Now, though, now Harry waits patiently until he’s sweaty and panting and can tell that Zayn’s rubbing over his prostate for fun, just to see his back arch off the bed. 

Harry reaches for him, his hand landing on Zayn’s shoulder, begging, “Please, Zayn, please, I’m ready.” 

Zayn nods, sliding his fingers out. Harry hears him fumble around for a few moments before there’s pressure at his hole, something much bigger than fingers. 

“Ready?” Zayn asks, looking down at him. Harry nods, hooking his leg more tightly over Zayn’s waist, his breath leaving him in a gasp when Zayn presses forward, the head of his cock pushing in. He thrusts in gently, slowly, little movements until Harry’s thighs are trembling and Zayn’s hips are pressed up against his arse. 

“Oh shit,” Harry breathes, feeling like every muscle on his body’s about to turn to mush. “Move, please move.” 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just rolls his hips forward in a slow grind before pulling his hips back and thrusting in hard. He goes slow like that, taking the time to get deep before he’s pulling out and fucking in again, and it’s only a few minutes before Harry’s entire body is shaking and slick with sweat. 

“Please,” he begs, wrapping his leg tight around Zayn’s hips, keeping him deep for a few moments. “Faster, please. More.” 

Zayn leans down to kiss him, grinding in as he steals Harry’s breath. Harry’s gone useless beneath him, trying to kiss back but having trouble making his mouth do anything except mumble out “please” over and over again. Zayn’s got his hips pinned, so he can’t even thrust back against him, he just has to lay there and take whatever Zayn gives him. 

A wail tears its way out of Harry’s throat when Zayn changes angles, sitting up and nailing Harry’s prostate with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long after that, especially not when Zayn gets a hand on him and jerks him off in time. It seems like no time at all before Harry’s shaking apart, coming all over his stomach and Zayn’s fist. Everything goes hazy for a few moments, or minutes maybe, and he doesn’t even really register that Zayn’s come as well until he flops down beside him, breathless and sweaty. 

“Fuck,” Harry moans, an aftershock making its way up his spine. “Fuck, that was good.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, voice muffled by the covers. Harry reaches up and brushes some hair back from his face, smiling dreamily when Zayn makes eye contact. He means to say something, like _thank you_ or _seriously that was brilliant, but he finds himself tired all of a sudden, his whole body relaxed and pleasantly worn out._

He falls asleep between one moment and the next, Zayn’s half-hidden smile the last thing he sees. 

\--- 

"I'm going to call my family," Harry says about a month later, turning around from the screen at his console to look at Zayn. Their time together is dwindling quickly, more quickly than Harry really wants to think about. Zayn hasn't mentioned, but Harry knows he's staying up here. That's okay, of course, because Zayn is his own person and everything, but he's started sleeping in Harry's room more often than not these days, pressing himself against Harry's back and tangling their legs together. Harry's nightmares have long since gone, and now he only dreams of Zayn, of his warmth and his smile and the crinkle around his eyes. Dreams of stars and soft dark hair and the vast, endless chasm of space all around them. 

"I'll clear out," Zayn says, looking up from Harry's notes. He's nearing the end of them, the manual he's been working on is taking an actual shape and structure. It's amazing, if not a somewhat terrible reminder to how temporary their time together is. "I'm almost done." 

"No, I mean --" Harry bites his lip and takes a deep breath. "You could stay, if you wanted. And like, talk to them too." 

Harry sees Zayn's shoulders go stiff, tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when Zayn turns toward him slowly, his face blank. "You want me to speak to your family." 

It's not a question. Harry nods, biting his lip again. 

"Harry," Zayn says gently, so, so gently, like Harry's something precious that he's trying not to shatter into pieces. It's not working. "I don't -- I'm not sure about that." 

"Okay," Harry responds, choking on it. He can't help it; the tears are already welling up. It's stupid, honestly. He's got no idea why he's about to bloody cry. It's not as if he thought -- Obviously they're not -- It doesn't mean anything, is the thing. Their relationship, or whatever. It can't go anywhere, not if Zayn's determined to stay where Harry won't go. 

He turns back to his console, blinking back the tears. Christ, he's ridiculous. He always gets so emotional, gets too invested where other people don't. 

"I just think it's not a good idea," Zayn says, still using that same tone. Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "If it's going to end, like. Meeting family is serious stuff, and I wouldn't want to -- " 

"I said it's fine," Harry interrupts, unable to listen to Zayn ramble. "I get it. You're right." 

Zayn doesn't respond for a long moment. Harry hears his chair shift, hears footsteps and thinks Zayn might be leaving the room until a pair of arms wraps around him from behind, holding him tight. 

"Sorry," Zayn whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. It does make Harry feel better, a bit. He gets it, he does, Zayn's just being careful. It sucks, but, whatever. 

Harry calls his family later that day, and as he sits and listens to his sister Gemma tell a story about an infuriating fact checker at work and his mum tell him about the new pie recipes she’s been trying out, it hits him. He’s going home in a month. He’ll be with his family in four short weeks, and he’ll smell his mum’s perfume again and get to hug his sister and it’ll be amazing. 

But he won’t have Zayn. 

It seems ridiculous that in such a short time Zayn has become so important to him. He shouldn’t be this sad at the prospect of not seeing him after he goes home, it makes no sense. He hasn’t known him long enough for that, has he? 

He thinks about it as he walks back to his room, wondering how he let it get like this. He’s always done this, though. He always falls in love too fast and too hard, with little to no regard for how fast the other person is moving. 

Wait, Harry’s not in love with Zayn. Is he? 

“Hey,” a voice says, startling him. Harry jumps and turns toward it, feeling his nerves calm when he realizes it’s just Zayn, sitting outside his door. The door he’s passed halfway down the corridor. Oops. “Y’alright?” 

“Yeah, sorry, was thinking,” Harry says, turning back to make his way to his door. Zayn stands and Harry puts his hand to the panel, unlocking the door before he opens it. “Were you out here long?” 

“Nah, just a few minutes. Had an errand to run.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, scratching his head. He’s still a little off-kilter, can’t shake the thoughts from his walk and can’t get rid of the _in love with Zayn, in love with Zayn_ that’s playing in a loop in his head. 

“Yeah,” Zayn answers, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He’s looking at Harry curiously, like he can’t quite understand what Harry’s thinking, and God, how could he? Harry hardly knows what he’s thinking. 

Harry turns away, shaking his head to clear it. It’s fine. They’ll have a normal night in. Harry just has to stop being so weird. He can do that. He’ll start by asking Zayn what he wants to eat. That’s completely normal, right? Right. He opens his mouth. 

“I think I love you,” he says, blurts, his eyes going wide. Zayn doesn’t respond. Harry’s thankful they’re not facing each other. “Um. I mean -- ” 

“I know you don’t mean it,” Zayn says, his voice strangely void of all tone. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Harry frowns. That doesn’t sit right with him, for some reason. What makes Zayn think Harry couldn’t mean it? Who’s Zayn to tell Harry what he’s feeling? He turns, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does that mean?” 

Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, but his face is a mirror to his voice, void of expression. “It means I know you don’t mean it.” 

That’s offensive. “I could mean it!” Harry protests, ignoring the fact that he’s not even really sure how he feels. “You don’t know. You didn’t even let me finish.” 

“Harry,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. Exasperated is half an emotion, at least. It’s better than nothing. “It’s fine. Don’t have a strop about it.” 

“I’m not having a strop,” Harry says, even though he very clearly he is. “I think it’s unfair of you to tell me how I feel.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes again but holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, sorry, I apologize. Tell me how you feel.” 

Harry pauses, shifts on his feet. “Well, I don’t know how I feel,” he admits finally, holding up a finger to keep Zayn from interrupting. “But, that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t love you. Or couldn’t love you.” 

“It shouldn’t be a question,” Zayn says, though he doesn’t sound angry or hurt about it. He’s just stating it like it’s a fact. “If you’re in love you know.” He takes a step closer, holding out a hand. Harry takes it, letting himself get reeled in. Zayn takes his other when they’re close enough, presses their foreheads together. “And it’s alright if you don’t know, like. There’s no pressure, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, squeezing Zayn’s hands. kay, maybe he overreacted a little. Zayn’s right anyway. They’ve only got a month left. Why waste it fighting? “Okay.” 

Zayn smiles at him, a real one that lights up his face and makes Harry’s heart flutter. He leans in to press a kiss to Harry’s mouth, soft and sweet. Harry returns it, cupping Zayn’s jaw. 

“Besides,” Zayn murmurs when they pull apart. “You don’t know me well enough to love me.” 

Harry frowns again. Zayn laughs, running his thumb over the crease in Harry’s forehead. 

“You’re cute when you’re stroppy,” he says, kissing him again. So Zayn didn’t mean anything by it? Just something he said to get a reaction out of Harry. Okay. 

“Well you’re cute never,” Harry says, pulling away dramatically, teasing. Zayn laughs again and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, kissing his cheek. 

“C’mon then, let’s go eat.” He works one of Harry’s hands away from his torso and takes it, linking their fingers. Harry feels something in his chest settle, slot into place. 

_It shouldn’t be a question_ , Zayn’s voice echoes in his head. 

_Yeah_ , Harry thinks, letting himself get led out the door. _It shouldn’t_. 

\--- 

As the date of his departure steadily approaches, Harry throws himself into the rest of his work. He’ll never be completely done, since technology is ever-changing and growing and the nature of keeping a station in orbit requires updates and advances he won’t be present for. They haven’t found him a replacement, apparently, decided they don’t need one and it’s no skin off Harry’s nose. Selfishly, he’s glad, because it means he gets more time with Zayn. 

Not that he’s really actively spending time with Zayn. Most of their out-of-work encounters involve mutual orgasms and little else. It’s terrible, but it’s Harry’s way of avoiding the situation. And it’s not as if Zayn’s doing anything to stop it. He’s clearly aware of it, from the way he’s taken to slipping out of the room afterward and returning just before Harry goes to sleep. He’s avoiding something as well, and if Harry were going to stay, he might press the issue. As it is, he lets it go. 

Sometimes, though, when Zayn’s asleep next to him in bed, Harry will find himself awake and examining the lines of Zayn’s face, the angle of his jaw and the line of his nose and how relaxed he looks when he’s sleeping. That’s when it’s the hardest for Harry to tell himself that what he has with Zayn, whatever it is, doesn’t mean anything. That what they’re doing is just something easy and quick brought on by boredom and proximity. Harry can’t think that when he looks at Zayn’s peaceful face and feels something settle in his own mind, like Zayn’s peace is his as well, like they’re two halves of a whole. 

Night time has always turned him into a romantic, though. He knows that. 

\--- 

He finishes his work with two weeks to spare and he calls his mum to celebrate, not even waiting until he’s back in his room, just walking down the corridor with his communicator. He can see Zayn sitting outside his door as he approaches, and he’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t even think before he smiles at him, giving him a big wave. 

“Who’s that, then? Louis?” his mum asks, and Harry shakes his head. Zayn looks at him curiously from down the hall, his face twisting in more confusion as Harry approaches, speaking. 

“No, it’s Zayn. He’s going to be the captain. He’s um --” He glances up at Zayn, who mouths who’s that at him. “He’s my boyfriend,” Harry finishes proudly, and both Zayn and his mother go unnaturally still. 

“Oh,” she says, voice sounding tinny. “Well, that’s lovely. Turn me around and let me have a look!” 

He does, ignoring the hard line of Zayn’s mouth that means he’s pissed. “Hello, love, nice to meet you,” Harry’s mum says, and Zayn looks down at the screen, his face softening considerably. That’s not so bad. That’s a good sign, right? 

“Hi,” he mumbles, giving a wave. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“I can see why Harry’s kept me from you,” she says, chattering in a way that Harry knows means she’s nervous. “You’re lovely, aren’t you? He knew I wouldn’t believe you’re actually his boyfriend!” 

“Mum!” Harry says, scandalized as Zayn laughs loudly, like he didn’t expect it. 

“I know, really slumming it with him, aren’t I?” he says, and Harry’s mouth drops open. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, turning the screen back around. “That’s enough of that. Mum, I’ve got to go, I love you.” 

“Oh, I love you too, darling! I’ll see you soon, bye!” 

With a wave Harry shuts off the communicator. He doesn’t look at Zayn, knows he’s probably annoyed and going to want to fight about it, but Harry’s having a good day and he doesn’t want to fight. 

“I finished my work today,” he says, before Zayn can say anything. He presses his hand to the panel and opens the door. “Like, all of it.” 

“That’s good,” Zayn says, and when Harry looks at him he doesn’t seem overly angry. “You called your mum to celebrate?” 

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah,” he nods. “Figured she’d want to hear.” 

Zayn nods and doesn’t say anything as he follows Harry into the room. Okay. Maybe they won’t fight about it. 

But they should at least discuss it, right? 

“Does it make you miss your mum? Talking to mine?” 

Zayn looks at him sharply, brows scrunching together. “What?” 

“Like, is that why you don’t want to talk to my family, or whatever,” Harry says, looking down as he unbuttons his flight suit. 

“I told you why I don’t want to talk to your family, Harry.” 

Harry shrugs out of his sleeves. “You don’t think we’re past that? The whole --” He waves a hand around. “Thing?” 

“No,” Zayn says. “I suppose I don’t, seeing as I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

Harry sighs, exasperated. “Nevermind. I just -- Ugh, no. Nevermind.” He moves to the couch, unlacing his boots, pulling at the laces roughly. He gets one off just fine, but the other’s knotted too tightly. It’s stuck. He tugs at it, frustrated. 

Zayn’s feet appear next to his, and Harry watches as he crouches down, prises Harry’s fingers away from the laces and goes about unknotting it. It comes free easily, slipping through Zayn’s fingers as if it’s made from silk. Harry frowns. 

“It does make me miss my mum,” Zayn says, putting his hand on Harry’s knee. “I can’t talk to her as easily as you can to yours.” 

“Oh.” Harry looks down at the hand on his knee and then to Zayn’s face, open and honest. God, but he’s beautiful. Harry traces his eyebrow with his thumb gently, cupping his face when he’s done. “I’m sure you could. She’s your mum, she loves you.” 

Zayn closes his eyes, leans his face into Harry’s hand. “She’s dead,” he says, and Harry’s face twists. 

“What?” 

“My mum’s dead,” he says, eyes still closed, like it’s easier that way. Easier if he doesn’t have to see Harry’s face when he says it. Harry doesn’t like that. “My whole family’s dead.” 

“Are you joking? It’s not funny.” Harry’s voice has gone hard, rough and confused. What is -- Zayn can’t be serious. 

Zayn’s eyes blink open, wide and hurt. “You think I’m joking?” No, no there’s no way -- There’s no way Zayn could be this cruel. But that means -- 

“God, no, I’m sorry. I’m not -- I don’t think you are, I dunno why I said that,” Harry says in a rush, his other hand coming up to cup the other side of Zayn’s face. It’s very important that Harry touch him right now, though he’s not sure why. His heart’s pounding and he’s sure his hands would be shaking if they weren’t holding onto Zayn. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Zayn says quietly, wrapping one of his hands around Harry’s wrist. Harry slides off the couch and onto the floor in front of him. 

“You -- Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Harry knows it is the second it’s left his mouth. Zayn’s dead family isn’t about him, Christ, of course that’s not the first thing you tell someone when you meet them. 

“What did you want me to say? ‘Hi I’m Zayn Malik and my family died five years ago?’ You’d think I was mental.” 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m having trouble -- processing. Just give me a moment. Please.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes, but there’s something fond in it, Harry thinks. He hopes, at least. Zayn nods and Harry leans back a bit, taking his hands off Zayn’s face and putting them over his own. 

So. Zayn’s family is dead. That’s -- God, Harry knows it’s not about him, but he can’t even fathom it. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have his mum or Gemma, if he had to figure everything out on his own. It’d be terrible, probably just an all-encompassing sadness. Zayn must be so strong to have gotten through it. 

So many things about him make sense now, though. His apprehension to getting close to Harry, not wanting to speak to Harry’s family, his connection with Niall and the faraway look he gets sometimes. Christ. Harry feels like he should’ve known, like he missed something obvious. But it wasn’t obvious, Zayn purposefully kept it from him and Harry can’t even be mad about it, honestly. It’s his life, and he’s the one who chooses what he shares, which makes it all the more amazing that he’s told Harry at all. 

“Okay,” Harry says, re-emerging from his hands. “I have a few things to say. Is that alright?” 

Zayn nods, pressing his lips together like he might laugh. It seems inappropriate, but maybe that’s just how Zayn’s dealing with it. Maybe he’s trying not to laugh so he doesn’t have to fight away tears. And it’s not as if Harry’s not being ridiculous, because he is, he knows he is, he also just doesn’t know how to handle something like this. 

“One,” Harry holds up his pointer finger. “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate and recognize the trust you’re putting in me, and I just -- thank you.” Zayn nods, mouth twitching like he might smile. Harry puts up another finger. “Two, I can’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through and what you must go through every day. I’m sorry.” He sniffs a bit, getting teary despite himself. Christ, he’s so embarrassing. “I’m so sorry, alright? No one should have to -- I’m sorry. I know it’s not my fault and it doesn’t bring them back, but I am, okay?” 

Zayn nods, the smile gone from his mouth, a much more serious expression having taken its place. Harry holds up a third finger. 

“Three,” he says, and then stops. “Wait, I don’t actually have a third thing. Um. Sorry.” He puts his hand down, finding Zayn’s and tangling their fingers together. Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks down at their hands and then up at Harry’s face. 

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice thin, like he might cry. That’s no good. If he cries, Harry will definitely cry, and he’s the world’s ugliest crier. “I -- You’re the first person I’ve told. It um, means a lot. What you said. So thank you.” 

“Okay, come here, hug time,” Harry says, tackling Zayn backwards onto the floor and wrapping himself around him the best he can. Zayn laughs and wraps his arms around him, holding him so tightly that Harry swears he can feel Zayn’s heartbeat in his own chest. Harry lets it settle him and relaxes against Zayn. 

“More like octopus time,” Zayn mumbles, and Harry barks out a laugh, surprised. It feels lighter, after that, even when Harry gets up from him and they go get dinner to bring back to the room. Harry’s hand brushes Zayn’s as they walk and when Zayn grabs it, it feels good, natural, like they’ve been doing it for years instead of months. 

\--- 

“I hope you’ll tell me about them one day,” Harry says later, when they’re curled together half-naked on Harry’s bed. 

“What?” Zayn’s voice is thick, just on the edge of sleep. Harry presses his face into the back of Zayn’s neck and waits before he whispers it again. 

Zayn doesn’t respond, and it’s just as well. Harry can see the date of his departure looming in the distance in bright neon, and he knows Zayn can see it too. So it’s better that Zayn doesn’t answer. Harry would hate for him to have to lie. 

\--- 

Liam decides, as he is wont to do, to throw a party to celebrate the completion of Harry’s work on the station. There’s a lot more work to be done still, so it’s not an official thing. More like a going away party that no one wants to call a going away party. It’s to be held -- according to the honest to God paper invitation that Liam tapes to Harry’s door -- on the observation deck, the night before Harry’s return shuttle is set to depart. 

Harry had half-hoped that he might have been able to spend the whole night alone with Zayn, but he supposes spending most of it surrounded by people he’s come to know and love over the past six months is good as well. Besides, it’s not as if he and Zayn can’t sneak out early, or something. 

The night approaches much too quickly for Harry’s liking. He spends the week gathering the few things he’s accumulated into his bag and avoiding the looks Zayn gives him while he does it. Because that’s another thing, ever since telling Harry about his family, Zayn has become ...odd. Well, not _odd_ , but decidedly different. More prone to cuddling, and hand-holding, and kissing in the corridors of the station, and doing things like resting his hand on Harry’s lower back as they walk somewhere together. Harry doesn’t dislike it, not at all, because he’s a physical creature and Zayn’s touch has always been electric, but it’s just -- different. 

Harry figures he should ask about it, about where they stand, or whatever, but right now, as he watches Zayn fix his hair in the mirror, gaze intent and focused, his lips pursed just the tiniest bit, Harry can’t do it. He can’t bring himself to ask. They don’t have enough time left to spend it being so serious. 

Zayn holds his hand the whole way to the observation deck and opens the door, which means he’s the one who nearly has a heart attack when everyone yells SURPRISE when they walk through the door. Clearly the fact that Harry knew they would be there didn’t matter. It was probably Louis who convinced them all to yell it anyway. He’s good at things like that. 

“Malik, I wish I’d recorded your face,” Louis says from behind them, making Harry jump. What a sneak. “Pure brilliance. The memory will keep me laughing for days.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes, not answering as Harry pouts and wraps an arm around his waist and rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, looking at Louis. “You’ll need it so you don’t cry for missing me, obviously,” he says, pleased when Louis waves a hand. Classic Louis deflection. 

“I’m sorry, who are you? I’m having trouble remembering your name,” Louis says and Harry’s pout deepens. 

“Heeeey.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Curly,” he says, reaching up to tug on a curl. “Of course I’ll miss you.” 

Harry smiles, pleased until Louis flicks the tip of his nose. “Ow, Christ -- ” 

“Anyway, what’s this?” Louis gestures to the two of them. “You’re looking very cozy. You’re going for the long distance thing?” 

Harry’s eyes go wide. He isn’t sure what to say. Obviously he and Zayn haven’t discussed it, but they also haven’t needed to. Well, they didn’t need to before, but Zayn’s been so -- 

“No,” Zayn says, cutting into Harry’s thoughts. “We’re not.” 

Louis blinks. “Oh.” He looks at Harry, brow slightly furrowed in a way that means _are you sure about this_. Harry shrugs slightly. _Guess so._

Louis looks at him a moment longer and then switches his gaze back to Zayn, giving him a tense smile. “Well, this has been a lovely chat,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I’ve got to go...be somewhere else. Bye!” 

Harry huffs out a laugh as Louis darts away. It’s fine, he’ll make sure to see him before he leaves for good. He couldn’t just leave his best friend up here for another year and a half without saying good bye. 

“That was weird,” Zayn says, turning in Harry’s grip to look at him. “He alright?” 

“Yeah, I mean, he’s probably just like -- ” Harry flops his hand around. “ -- about me leaving, right?” 

“I suppose,” Zayn says, giving Harry an odd look. He pauses and it’s tense, with him giving him that look and not saying anything. “That was okay, right? Me saying that, about us.” 

Oh no. Harry doesn’t want to talk about this here, but he can’t -- he shouldn’t pass up the opportunity, especially if Zayn’s the one bringing it up. He glances away, uncomfortable, and then back to Zayn. “I dunno, I mean. You didn’t say anything when I called you my boyfriend to my mum.” 

Zayn lets out a long breath. “That was your mum, Harry. I’m not going to -- I didn’t want to make it awkward.” 

“Okay.” Harry pauses. “You could’ve said something afterward.” 

“What, when I was telling you about my dead family?” 

Harry winces. “That’s not what I meant. I meant -- If you had a problem you should’ve told me.” 

“I didn’t have a problem, you had a problem,” Zayn says, stepping out of Harry’s grasp. That’s not what he wants. He wants Zayn to come back. 

“I know,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I didn’t. I just -- I dunno. You haven’t said anything about it. I’m worried you’re like, secretly mad or something.” 

Zayn’s face goes soft. “I’m not mad,” he says, patting Harry’s cheek gently. “Really. It was -- unexpected. But I thought you -- I thought we were on the same page? About it all.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding. “We are.” Not that he’d particularly mind calling Zayn his boyfriend, because he really doesn’t think of him as just a friend, but there’s not much point. Not now, at least, when they’ve got so little time left together. 

“Okay, good.” Zayn looks at him for a moment, his expression still kind. “You’re not mad either?” 

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I promise.” It’s not really a lie; disappointment is a completely different emotion than anger. “We’re good?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn nods. “Glad we um -- ” He gestures with a hand, looking awkward. “ -- Figured it out.” 

Harry smiles, sighs, and reels Zayn back in for a hug. “We might not be boyfriends,” Harry murmurs, speaking right into Zayn’s ear, “but I -- care for you a lot. I want you to tell me when something upsets you. Okay?” 

Zayn nods and Harry pulls back, looking him over. He looks okay, not angry or sad, but also not completely expressionless. He just looks like Zayn, and it’s so bizarrely comforting that Harry reaches a hand out and touches Zayn’s cheekbone, just to make sure he’s real. 

“I care about you a lot too, you know,” Zayn says, taking Harry off guard. He knows it, of course, from the way Zayn’s always bringing him bananas and asking if he’d had any nightmares and bringing him water when he thinks Harry looks thirsty, but it’s different to hear it. It’s exhilarating, for one thing. 

Harry beams a smile at him and leans down to kiss him on the mouth. “Good. Let’s enjoy the party, then.” 

Zayn looks at him a moment longer, his mouth twitching like he might say something but it passes, and he smiles back at Harry. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and takes Harry’s hand to lead him to the punch bowl. 

\--- 

Later, they leave together, Harry stumbling through the corridors back to his room, drunk on spiked punch and the residual love of all the people wishing him a good life. Zayn’s equally as giddy, keeping their fingers locked tightly and half-guiding, half-running Harry into walls. Granted, most of the time when that happens, Zayn just kisses him, laughing against his mouth, and Harry feels something expand in his chest until it’s close to bursting. 

They make it to Harry’s bare room and tumble onto the bed, still laughing and grappling at each other’s clothes. Harry’s not sure he could actually get it up at the moment, but Zayn’s body against his is a comfort, anchoring and solid enough that Harry doesn’t feel like he’ll float away. 

“Hey,” he says quietly as they settle down, a hand going to Zayn’s cheek. 

"Hey babe," Zayn responds, a smile crinkling up the corners of his eyes. God, Harry likes him so much. No, not likes, he thinks. The feeling in his chest seems too big for _likes._

_Loves._

_It should be easy_ , Harry can hear Zayn saying in his head, and yeah, it is easy. It feels like the easiest fucking thing in the world to love him. 

He can't say it, though. It would ruin everything, probably. Ruin what they have. He’ll have to say something else. 

"I think you should visit me," Harry blurts instead, swallowing thickly. Zayn's face falls slightly, his smile fading. 

"Harry," he starts, but Harry shakes his head. 

"I know that we're not -- whatever. I know. But um, you get holidays, yeah? You should -- you should visit me. On the ground. Don't um, don't say no, okay? Not right now. Just think about it? Please?" He gives his best pleading face, and it's not even an act like it usually is because he means it. He means it. 

"I --" Zayn sighs, scrunches up his face. "Yeah, maybe." 

Harry lets out a breath. "Thank you," he says and leans over to kiss him on the mouth. "Thanks." 

"Don't thank me yet," Zayn mumbles, but Harry ignores him and snuggles into the blankets instead. 

\--- 

It's much too early when Harry's alarm starts shrieking. Normally, Harry would turn it off and sleep for a few minutes longer, but he can't do that today. He's going home. _Home_. 

He hauls himself out of bed and into the shower one last time, tying his wet hair up into a bun once he's clean and dry. Zayn's sitting on the edge of the bed when Harry reemerges, already dressed and rubbing a hand over his mouth. Harry's breath catches at the sight, at the thought that today will be the last time he kisses Zayn for a long time. Maybe even forever. 

"Hiya," he says, leaning against the doorway. Zayn looks up, his face relaxing into a smile. God. Harry loves him so much. He doesn't understand why he's only just realizing now. 

"C'mere," Zayn says, voice rough, and Harry doesn't have to be told twice. He's across the room in no time at all, fitting himself into Zayn's lap and kissing him deeply, trying to tell him, _I love you I love you I love you_. 

Zayn responds in kind, taking the kisses Harry presses on him and giving back as good as he gets, hands fisting in Harry's shirt, trying to tug him closer. Harry moans as Zayn licks at the seam of his lips and gets his tongue inside, turning it desperate and dirty. 

"Fuck," Harry breathes, pulling away. His mouth stings, from Zayn's stubble and teeth, and he's gone a bit lightheaded. "Zayn." 

"I love you," Zayn says, and Harry's stomach takes a violent lurch. 

"What?" He has to make sure that -- He didn't just dream it, right? He couldn't have. Zayn actually said -- 

"I love you," he repeats, cupping Harry's face with his hand. "I thought I could -- I dunno, stop it, maybe? That I could keep myself from -- But I -- I love you." 

All of Harry's breath rushes out of him in a huff and he looks at Zayn, winded and still tingling from the kiss and says, "I love you too." 

Zayn laughs, a crackly, relieved sound that seems like it's torn out of him, and he leans forward to kiss Harry again. Harry kisses back. 

It's just as charged as before, Zayn's hands scrambling for purchase and finally landing on Harry's hips, squeezing as Harry sucks Zayn's bottom lip into his mouth and bites down on it. The groan he lets out kicks something alive in Harry's gut, makes him suddenly and acutely aware of how much he'd like an orgasm before he leaves. 

They haven't got the time. 

"Wait, wait," he says, pulling away again, hands on Zayn's chest. Zayn looks up at him, lips red and slightly swollen and something hungry in his gaze. Harry suppresses a shiver that runs down his spine. "Does this mean, um, that you'll like, visit me?" 

Zayn's brow furrows. "What?" 

"Um, what I said last night, I mean," Harry says, scooting back a little, trying to get enough space to clear his head. "When I asked you to visit me." 

"There's nothing for me on the ground, Harry," Zayn says, looking up at him in a strange way. Calculating, almost. It stings. 

"I'll be there," he says, trying not to sound hurt but definitely failing. 

"You don't have to be," Zayn counters, and Harry sits back so far, so abruptly that he almost topples over, saved by Zayn's hands on his arms. Harry looks at him, blinking rapidly, trying to understand. Zayn wants him to stay on the station. With him. 

"My family," he says, and then makes a face at himself, because he knows it's the wrong thing to say. He gets up, covering his face with his hand. He can't -- the only thing that's gotten him through this is the prospect of seeing his family at the end. Even with Zayn, it's still. God. "I'd miss them too much. I'm sorry." 

"They won't understand." Zayn's voice is hard, his face set to match. Harry blinks at the change, the sudden defensiveness he hasn't seen in weeks. 

"What?" 

Zayn doesn't blink. "You heard me. They won't understand and you'll regret it." 

“Because you’ve got so much experience with this sort of thing,” Harry snaps. He resents the implication. He and his family are very close, and he knows -- they would never not support him or sympathize with him. They love him. 

“I do,” Zayn answers, tone smug and condescending. Harry hates being condescended to, probably the most out of anything else. His whole life he’s been treated like an annoyance, like he was insane for wanting to work in space. A thousand _that’s nice, Harry_ s whenever anyone asked him what he was working on and he’d explained it to them. It sounds wrong, coming from Zayn, bizarre and painful. “You’ll want them to understand but they won’t.” 

_And I suppose you think you're the only one who will_ , Harry thinks, but bites his tongue. Zayn wants a fight, he can tell, and Harry's not going to give in. 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s the alternative?” 

“You stay here, with people who get it.” 

God. Of course he thinks it’s that simple. Of course he thinks that Harry would just give up his life on Earth and not look back. That’s what Zayn’s done, apparently, except he didn’t even choose it. Would Zayn have chosen to stay if he still had his family? Harry doesn’t think so. 

"I'm not spending the rest of my life in space, Zayn," he says instead. Zayn's face flickers through emotions, like a flip book almost, or something out of a grainy silent film, and he finally settles on one akin to disgusted. 

"That's it? It's that easy?" he asks, staring hard up at Harry. 

"It's not fucking easy," Harry spits, throwing his hands up. This isn’t how he wanted this conversation to go at all. They should be kissing, not yelling at each other. "Don't patronize me." 

Zayn glances away. "Seems like you made the choice pretty easily." 

Harry closes his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. Zayn must think Harry's abandoning him, thinks that it has to be either or, but it doesn't. Harry's not sure how to make him realize that it could work. 

"We can still see each other," he says finally, softly, desperately. "You have holiday time, you can -- I can call you. You can call me." _You can live on the ground when your two years are up_. "We can make it work." 

"I don't want that," Zayn says, shaking his head. "I don't want to be stuck up here, missing you and have you stuck down there. What if -- It's too difficult." 

"Zayn," Harry pleads, "Please. Don't do this. We can make it work. Up here or on the ground." 

"There's nothing left for me there," Zayn says, voice gone hard again, final. He stands, stalks over to the door. "And there's nothing left for you, either. You'll see." He punches down on the button and Harry watches him, bile rising in his throat. He's not sure how his life has just gone so spectacularly wrong. He hurts, it hurts, deep in his chest and out to his fingertips, feels like Zayn's ripped a piece out of him. 

"You're just afraid of it," he snaps, as Zayn turns away from him. "You're a coward.” 

It makes no difference. Zayn walks out the door and doesn't look back. The alarm on Harry’s communicator goes off again, reminding him that he needs to be on the departure deck. 

Harry stares at the door until it closes and picks up his comm, silencing the alarm. He sets it down, picking up his bag in its place and makes his way to the shuttle that’ll get him out of here. Take him home. 

\--- 

In the six months that Harry spent in space, he’s somehow forgotten exactly how bright the sun is on the ground. A solar flare on the station could’ve cooked him like a roast in the oven, but the first week Harry’s back home has him constantly wearing sunglasses to fight off headaches. He looks like a prat, he’s sure, wearing dark lensed aviators indoors but he has to or he feels like his head might explode. 

It doesn’t help that the gravity simulation on the station was slightly different and Harry’s heavier down here, clumsier than normal the first few days. Thankfully he’s stuck on the program’s base for a week to undergo the necessary medical testing for people returning from space, so he only has to walk across a small campus from the dormitory they’ve set him up in. He wants to see his family, and some days it’s the only thing that keeps him walking, trudging down the path as if it’s a snow-covered mountain, his legs aching and his chest still empty and his exposed skin feeling like it might blister off under the heat of the sun. He arrives everywhere red-faced and slightly sweaty, his hair curling and frizzing around his face like mad, but the doctors tell him he’s fine and send him on his way. 

His mum picks him up a week to the day after his hard landing in Kazakhstan. He’s still a little wobbly, a little easily winded, but his mum wraps him up in a tight hug and he holds on for as long as he can, comforted by the familiar shape of her body and the scent of her perfume. He’d forgotten how good it was to be hugged by her. Obviously he wasn’t lacking in physical contact the past six months, but there’s something special about it being his mum. Zayn was special too but -- No. He can’t go there. 

Harry’s teary as he pulls away, sniffing pathetically and giving his mum a big smile. 

“I missed you,” he says. Anne gives a watery laugh and pats his cheek before leading him to the car. 

The ride home is peaceful, the movement of the car providing a sort of peace to Harry’s center. It’s strange, not living inside a huge machine. Harry had grown accustomed to the hum of it, the cramped space and the blankness of it. Everything is so colorful on Earth, rich greens and bright blues and every other color coming at you almost constantly. It doesn’t help his headaches. 

His mum’s house is still the same, warm and cozy and smelling perpetually of cardamom and vanilla. Harry hauls his stuff up the stairs and settles into his old room, the one he lived in before he went off to uni. It’s mostly untouched, the posters still on the wall and all his books in the bookcase. It’s as comforting as it is strange. He feels sort of detached in a way that he doesn’t know how to explain. He can hardly remember being a teenager, can’t recall what from his youth made him think a book of collected Bukowski poems would be a good purchase, though he supposes it doesn’t matter much now. He feels like a completely different person. He’s been in _space_ , he’s seen the Earth from above and he’s spent longer than he’d like to think about staring into the great unknown of the universe. 

Harry rolls his eyes at himself. He’s so self-important sometimes. He’s not the only one who’s ever been to space. Sure, it was life-changing but it’s not as if he’s completely different. Everyone changes as they get older, that’s practically the definition of growing up. He’s being dramatic. Harry pulls himself off the bed and back down the stairs to help his mum make dinner. He’s not so changed that he can’t remember how to cook, after all. 

\--- 

“So,” Louis says, drawing out the word slowly. It crackles over the speaker, and Louis’ image glitches. It’s pretty typical for a space call. Harry’s just thankful the connection hasn’t dropped. Yet. “How is it?” 

Harry makes a face. They haven’t spoken since the morning Harry left, and that had been a short conversation, mostly limited to _Miss you_ s and _call me you wanker_. Harry had hugged him for a long time, trying not to think about the awful conversation he’d had with Zayn just before. If Louis had noticed anything weird then, he hasn’t said anything about it. 

“It’s weird,” Harry says finally, quietly. “Bright. Loud. Crowded.” So, so crowded. Harry had forgotten just how crowded it could get, especially in a Tesco on a Monday night. 

Louis snorts. “So, just like we left it, then?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Harry grins as Louis rolls his eyes, a sudden wave of sadness washing over him when he remembers just how far apart they are. “Miss you.” 

“Miss you too,” Louis answers quietly, looking off-screen. “Do you think -- ” He frowns, looks back to the camera. “Do you think you’d ever come back?” 

Harry lets out a breath. “I dunno,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Maybe. Probably. I’ve only been back three weeks, you know? It’s -- ” He shrugs. 

“Do you miss him?” Louis’ voice is still quiet, careful. Harry swallows around a lump. 

“Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I do. A lot.” 

“What happened?” 

Harry shifts in his seat. “Nothing happened. I mean, he told you right? He didn’t -- ” 

“I swear to God,” Louis says, holding a finger up, “If you say that he didn’t want you, I will come through this screen and slap you in the face.” 

Harry shuts his mouth and pouts. Louis gives him an unimpressed look. 

“Well he didn’t,” Harry says. “I told him I loved him and asked him to visit me and he said he wouldn’t.” 

Louis’ face scrunches up. “What? I don’t believe you.” 

“It’s true! And he told me he loved me too but he didn’t -- I dunno. Said there wasn’t anything for him on the ground.” 

“Ouch,” Louis says, wincing. “Didn’t pull any punches, did he?” 

“No, but.” Harry sighs, running a hand over his face. “I think he might’ve been right.” 

Louis frowns. “What?” 

“I think he -- Everything’s so different and weird, but my mum keeps asking me questions about it and I dunno what to say. Like, it never seems like enough. She doesn’t understand.” 

“Of course she doesn’t understand,” Louis says, using the tone that means he thinks Harry’s being an idiot. “It’s not like she went into space too. Just because she’s your mum doesn’t mean she’ll automatically get it.” 

“I know that,” Harry says, offended. “But it’s still -- I didn’t want him to be right.” 

Louis covers his face with his hand for a moment. “You’re ridiculous. I love you, but you’re ridiculous and I hope you didn’t throw away something good because of an idiotic argument.” 

“I didn’t throw anything away,” Harry snaps. “He’s the one who didn’t want to try!” 

“Then why’s he wandering around the station like a lost puppy?” 

“I dunno, you’ll have to ask him,” Harry says, sitting back hard in his chair. Zayn’s sad without him? Well, no, Harry shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There are lots of reasons Zayn could be sad. 

“Maybe I will,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. It’s a scary thought, actually. Harry can believe that Zayn and Louis would get along well, probably. 

“I have to go, my mum will be back soon,” Harry says, before Louis can go on about befriending Zayn. “I’ll call you next week?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis answers, his eyes narrowing. “We’re not done talking about this.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Okay. Miss you.” 

Louis’ face softens slightly. “Miss you too, Hazza.” He raises a hand, and the screen goes black. Harry stares at it for a long time, until he hears the front door open and close and his mum’s voice filtering up the staircase. 

\--- 

Harry steps off the stairs and is immediately assaulted with a bone-crushing hug, someone smaller than him with blonde hair trying to squeeze the life out of him. 

“Oh, baby brother, I missed you,” Gemma says, muffled into Harry’s shirt. Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs back, comforted by her presence. 

“Missed you too,” he says, squeezing her a bit tighter when she laughs. 

His mum makes a fancy beef wellington for dinner and Harry had thought he was past the phase of coming home where the taste of real food makes him cry, but he’d thought wrong. He gets teary as he makes his way through his meal. His mum’s used to it by now, so she doesn’t say anything, but Gemma keeps giving him strange looks out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything until they start in on dessert and Harry has to put his head down on the table to gather himself. He just has a lot of feelings, is all. 

“Was the food really that terrible?” Gemma asks, one thin eyebrow arching on her forehead. 

“It was like eating cardboard for six months,” Harry responds flatly. “Sometimes wet cardboard.” 

Gemma frowns. “I thought you said there were space farms, or whatever.” 

“There were, but they had only just started producing test crops when I left.” 

“Oh,” Gemma says, turning back to her plate. She turns back a moment later. “What was it like?” 

“Gemma,” Anne says, interrupting. Harry knows how worried she’s been about him. “Eat your dinner.” 

“I was only asking,” Gemma says, rolling her eyes, and Harry feels like he’s back in sixth form. 

“I dunno,” he says with a shrug, looking down at his plate. “It was like -- A lot.” 

Gemma snorts. “God, Harry. Very descriptive.” 

Harry makes a face at her. “I dunno how to describe it. Sort of like, if you think of the most cut off you’ve ever been, like the most alone you’ve ever felt but also the most at peace. That’s what it was like. Even though there were hundreds of other people and the station was actually pretty crowded it was like, there was this sort of encompassing feeling of isolation and freedom. It was -- a lot.” 

No one says anything for a moment and Harry stares at his plate as the silence stretches. That’s the most he’s ever said about it, the most he’s ever dared to think about it, really. He’s not sure how much of his experience was affected by Zayn and he doesn’t fancy going into it. He’s been avoiding thinking about it all, really, because it hurts too much. The loss of Zayn is an ache in his chest and he doesn’t feel it when he doesn’t think about it. He can’t tell his mum and his sister that, though. They hardly even know about Zayn. 

He risks a glance up at Gemma, his cheeks flushing when he sees her slightly uncomfortable expression. It’s similar to the face she’d always get when he tried to explain something to her, like she doesn’t understand but she also doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Awkward, almost. He looks to his mum, his unease settling when she smiles encouragingly at him. 

“That sounds absolutely lovely,” she says, leaning over to pat his face. From anyone else, it’d be condescending, but it’s his mum, so he knows she means it. 

“Makes me wonder why you left,” Gemma says, and Harry doesn’t respond to her, instead looking down at his food again. He’s got a whole list of reasons, actually: the food, the monotony, missing his family too much, etc. When he thinks of them now, though, they don’t seem as insurmountable as they felt in space. 

Try as he might, Harry can’t think of a good enough reason to give her, so he doesn’t. 

\--- 

Harry spends the following weeks walking around in a strange sort of daze. He’s gotten offers from multiple people, numerous companies that want his expertise and are willing to pay dearly for it, but he can’t seem to make himself focus long enough on their proposals and plans to decide whether or not he wants to work for them. In lieu of getting an actual job, he tries to do simple stuff for his mum, like the shopping or picking up her dry cleaning or picking up dinner when they’ve ordered out. Most of the time it ends in disaster. 

The first time he ventures into Tesco on his own he realizes he’s come during what is apparently a Wednesday night rush. The place is packed with people milling around, most of them clearly in work clothes, most likely grabbing their mid-week essentials. Every person in a ten mile radius has stuffed themselves inside; Harry can hardly navigate from one aisle to the next, and to make matters worse, every single person seems to be in the world’s worst mood. He can barely mutter out an “excuse me, sorry,” without someone turning and glaring at him as if he’s insulted their mother. It doesn’t help that he seems to have forgotten where everything is in his time away. He walks down one row, looking for peanut butter -- fights his way through women with their carts left in the middle of the aisle and men on their mobiles asking (very loudly) which brand it is that they’re meant to buy -- only to realize that there’s nothing but tins of beans and vegetables on the shelves. 

It takes him almost two hours to get everything he needs, and by the time it’s his turn in the queue at the register, he can hardly focus long enough to slide his card at the correct time. 

Harry slides his mum’s card, since it’s her house he’s buying for, and watches as the groceries get bagged. He winces as a bag of apples gets dropped rather heavily into a sack, remembering what a nightmare the produce section had been. He’d had to wait almost five minutes for a person to decide between two variety of apples, and when he’d finally gotten the chance to choose his own, the pickings were slim. He hadn’t even glanced at the display of bananas, even though they looked yellow and perfect out of the corner of his eye. He hasn’t eaten one since coming home, as stupid as it was. He hasn’t lost his taste for them, but he -- It’s stupid, really, but he can’t help but think about Zayn when he looks at one, and how each one he ate on the station made him feel taken care of, looked after. It’s a banana, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

“Sir? Your pin?” 

Harry blinks, looking back at the cashier. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, cheeks heating as he looks down at the keypad. He lifts a hand to press the number in but his mind goes blank. Well, not entirely blank. He can remember his own pin, but not his mum’s. He thinks maybe it’s his and Gemma’s birth year, but when he tries that, DECLINED pops up on the screen. 

“Incorrect pin,” the cashier says in a bored voice. Harry laughs, glances behind himself at the line of grumpy looking people and swipes the card again, only to have it rejected. 

“Um, I’ll use a different card,” Harry mumbles, fishing his own out of his wallet. He swipes it and keys in the number with no problem, gathers his bags and makes his way back home as quickly as he can. 

He decides to start doing all his errands either early or late in the day after that. Fewer people means less of a chance of Harry getting overwhelmed, and less of a chance of getting overwhelmed means he doesn’t embarrass himself in public. It’s better for everyone, really. 

It also means, though, that he’s got a ridiculous amount of free time during the day. Not wanting to do anything that’ll bring him into contact with lots of people, Harry starts going on walks. 

At first it’s just for the general exercise and reason to get out of the house everyday. His mum insists the fresh air will do him good, as will the endorphins from the physical activity, and it’s not as if Harry has anything else going on so he does it. His first route takes him through the neighborhood park, past the tree he had his first kiss against and the pond that freezes over every winter. He used to go skating there, but he hasn’t been back for a winter in ages, and he isn’t sure his body would remember how to stay upright on a pair of thin blades. He does a loop of the park every day for about two weeks before he gets bored and starts looking up actual hiking trails. 

Where walking through the park had been comforting, hiking the unknown trails seems much more like an adventure. He’s not familiar with any of the paths or trails, so each new one provides a great distraction as he makes his way through it. And being out in nature is peaceful. The trails and surrounding woods are mostly deserted, and Harry relishes the isolation. He isn’t sure why, but his time back on the ground has been strangely suffocating and the solace of the woods offers a respite. 

The more he hikes, the more he finds himself staying out later and later, hiking up and down trails as the sun goes down. It’s dangerous, he knows, but he likes the view of the stars from beneath the trees. 

It’s not the view from the stars he’d had on the observation deck, but it’s close enough. Even if he is missing Zayn’s warmth pressed up against his side. 

That’s another thing he does as he walks. He thinks about Zayn, about Zayn’s family and his insistence that there’s nothing left for him. Being back on Earth has been harder for Harry than he wants to admit, and the fact that Zayn warned him about it makes it even worse. He regrets calling Zayn a coward, mostly because he hadn’t meant it. He’d just wanted him to hurt like he did, wanted Zayn to feel even an ounce of what Harry had, but obviously it’d been stupid. He’d been emotional, he hadn’t meant -- Well, alright he meant it in the moment, he supposes, but he doesn’t mean it now. 

But still, he doesn’t think it was entirely unreasonable of him to ask Zayn to visit. Love is about compromise, about sticking it out even when it’s tough and doing things for someone you might not necessarily do otherwise. Zayn may not be a coward, but he’s definitely unwilling to change, and if Harry thought he was ever going to see him again, he might just tell him that. 

\--- 

Liam calls halfway through Harry’s second month home. He’s just started fully adjusting again, just gotten used to the fact that he’s home and going to stay there for awhile when Liam’s face pops up on his computer screen while he’s surfing the internet for a new pair of swim trunks. 

“Liam?” he asks, once the call’s connected. Liam’s face appears a second later, a smile on his mouth. He waves, and Harry waves back. He doesn’t think Liam’s ever called him. “Y’alright?” 

“I’m good,” Liam says, too loudly. Harry winces and Liam makes a face. “Sorry, too loud? Still getting used to this thing.” 

“Right.” Harry pauses, staring at him through the screen. He looks the same as he did a few months ago, though he’s got a bit of a beard now and his hair’s a bit longer. His face is still the same, though. 

_Of course it’s the same, you berk_. Harry tells himself. _It’s been two months, not two years_. 

“How’s things?” Liam asks, and Harry shakes himself from his thoughts and smiles, rattles off a list of the things that have happened since he’s been home. He tries to make it sound less pathetic than it is, and if Liam can tell what he’s doing, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Right. Time for a subject change. “How’re things on the station?” 

“They’re good, mostly,” Liam says, but the thing about Liam is that he’s an absolutely shit liar. He can’t look a person in the eye when he does it, and he always worries his bottom lip between his teeth. That’s what he’s doing now, in fact, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“What’s the problem?” 

Liam’s shoulders slump. “There’s a problem with the electrical systems. It’ll have to be completely redone, but redoing it also means -- ” 

“Redoing the code,” Harry says with a sigh. He runs a hand over his face. He knew the problem with the doors was a bigger problem than he’d originally thought. It’s just his luck that they figured it out after he’s left. 

“You’re the only one who knows the system,” Liam says carefully, and Harry’s pulse skyrockets. It feels like Liam’s trying to ask him to come back without actually asking him, but Harry’s not going to offer something like that just because he may or may not feel guilty about the doors not working. Liam’s going to have to ask. 

“Zayn knows it,” Harry says, a knot forming in his chest at the thought of Zayn’s name. “Spent six months studying it.” 

Liam sighs. “He does and yes, he did, but, he’s not you. He didn’t create it. It’d take him four times longer to do it than you.” 

“Liam…” 

“Please, Harry,” Liam says, his mouth turned down and his eyes pleading. Damn it, Liam always knows just how to get him. “It’s not permanent, it’ll only be until you finish.” 

Harry sighs, rubs a hand through his hair. “I dunno, Liam.” 

“Think about it,” Liam pleads, “Just take a few days and I’ll call again, alright?” 

“Okay,” Harry says hesitantly. He feels uneasy, the knot in his chest expanding and making him feel truly uncomfortable. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Thank you so much Harry. I’ve got to go but really, thank you,” Liam says in a rush and Harry’s barely got his goodbye out before the screen goes dark. 

_Well that’s just brilliant, Harry thinks, burying his face in his hands to take a deep breath. He knows he’s been having a hard time readjusting to life back home, but things have been easier lately and he’d hate to jeopardize that. Besides, he doesn’t know how it’d feel to see Zayn again._

That’s not quite right. He knows it’d be amazing to see Zayn again, to be able to touch him and hug him and just be in his general vicinity, but he can’t imagine Zayn particularly wants to be around him. Harry’d called him a coward and left and if what Louis said is true, then Zayn’s just as miserable as Harry’s been, and he’s probably pissed. He tends to default to anger, Harry knows, and Harry’s not too intent on having it directed at him. 

On the other hand, maybe it’d been a mistake to come back. Maybe he should’ve stayed and been with Zayn, or at least tried harder to convince him that they could make it work. But he hadn’t. 

_If you run, I’ll chase you_ , he remembers saying. That’s what Zayn had essentially done. He’d pushed Harry away and told him it wouldn’t work, distanced himself. He’d run and Harry hadn’t even seen it. He’d been too wrapped up in his own feelings to think about what Zayn was actually doing. And Harry hadn’t kept his word. He’d run too, in the opposite direction. He’d fucked it up. 

Maybe there’s still time for him to make it right. 

\--- 

He tells his mum he’s going back after dinner, citing the code and electrical fix as the reason. He expects her to make a big fuss and maybe even cry, but instead she looks at him, gentle and understanding, and smiles. 

“If that’s what you think is best,” she says, nodding her head. 

Harry frowns. “Well, I dunno if it’s best,” he says with a shrug, “But I feel like it’s right, you know? Like I have to -- to fix what I messed up.” 

Anne arches a brow. “I doubt you managed to mess up an entire system from down here,” she says and right, he hasn’t told her about Zayn. It was too difficult to talk about, in the beginning, and the longer he was home the less it all seemed to matter. Now it feels too complicated to explain. 

“Maybe not,” he says. “But I’d like to -- I feel guilty, I guess. Leaving them hanging like that.” 

Anne smiles again, something about it settling in his chest, calming him. “Of course, darling. Do what you need to do.” 

\--- 

Harry’s walking down a familiar corridor no more than a week later. He’s got a bit of a limp from being cramped in the vessel that brought him aboard and from how hard he hit the ground when Louis tackled him. They’re walking together now, Harry pretending to listen to what Louis is telling him as they near his old quarters. 

“Should be just the way you left it,” he hears Louis say and snaps back to the present. “I don’t think Liam assigned anyone here while you were gone.” 

_While I was gone_ , Harry repeats in his head. Louis makes it sound like Harry just took some holiday time, not that he’d actually given up his position and gone home. He wants to correct him, but he also knows it’s useless. He knows what Louis would say. _You’re here now aren’t you, and you’ve just come back from time away_ , and he’d be right and Harry would find it infuriating. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. 

Harry puts his hand up to the door and enters when it opens, unprepared for the rush of feeling that hits him when he does. It’s familiar, similar to the way his bed is. Comforting like home is. Something clicks into place in his chest when he looks around, his nerves settling as he sets his bag down and takes a few steps into the center. 

“I’ll let you settle in,” Louis says, and Harry nods, giving him a wave as he backs toward the door. 

“Hazza?” he says, turning around before the door opens. “I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah,” Harry responds, smiling. “Yeah, me too.” 

\--- 

He’s settling into bed when he finds it, running his hands against the edge of the mattress that meets the wall of his sleep cube. His fingers catch on something metal, and at first he thinks it’s a loose screw, but it’s not. He pulls a thick silver band from the space between and turns it over in his fingers. 

It’s Zayn’s. 

Harry can remember it clearly, them on the bed, Zayn sliding his rings off and onto Harry’s fingers before pressing him back into the mattress. Zayn never mentioned losing it, but maybe he thought Harry had taken it. 

He looks at it a moment longer and sets it on the shelf above his head, next to his spare hair ties. He’ll put it in his pocket tomorrow morning and return it. Maybe he’ll tell Zayn all those things he’s been meaning to say, too. 

Probably not but, maybe. 

\--- 

Walking up to the command centre the next morning is nerve wracking. Harry can feel the weight of Zayn’s ring in his pocket and he can feel the rapid beat of his pulse in his neck. He’s worried -- it’s stupid -- but he’s worried that Zayn will be there, outside of command, sitting just like he used to. Harry doesn’t know what he’d say or how to say any of the things he wants to, and he works himself practically into a fit as he climbs the stairs. 

Thankfully, Zayn hasn’t got to command yet. Harry takes a few deep breaths and enters the dark room, nerves settling slightly when the lights flicker on and he can see he’s the only one. 

“Right,” he says to himself, cracking his knuckles (and wincing in pain) and sitting down at his old console. “Time to get to work.” 

He can do this. 

He gets so caught up in his work that he almost doesn’t catch the sound of the door opening. He hears it faintly, but doesn’t really register who it is until the heavy footfalls stop. 

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks, and Harry freezes at his station. His heart rate kicks up and he turns slowly, plastering a smile onto his face. 

“Hi,” he says, swallowing thickly. Zayn looks mostly the same, except his hair’s longer, tied up into a bun not unlike the ones Harry makes in his own hair. “How’re -- How’s things?” 

“What are you doing here,” Zayn repeats flatly, one hand curled into a fist at his side. Harry knows Zayn would never hit him, that it’s more just a sign of frustration than anything else. Still, Harry doesn’t like the sight of it. Surely Zayn knew he’d be here. 

“Um, working,” he says, clearing his throat. “Liam called me back for the door thing.” 

Zayn’s nostrils flare and his jaw twitches. So he probably didn’t know, then. “What, didn’t trust that I could do it?” 

Harry frowns. Of all the things to say, that’s the last thing he expected Zayn to choose. “What?” 

“You came back to fix a problem I’m perfectly capable of fixing. Why?” 

"Because I was asked to," Harry says, slightly incredulous. He doesn't understand why Zayn's acting as if Harry's undermined him in some way. He hasn't. Or, he hasn't on purpose. "I'm sorry if no one told you, but I'm here now so you might as well make the best of it." 

Zayn stares at him for a long moment, his fist still clenched by his side. "Right," he says eventually, sounding less mad but no less upset. "The best of it." 

Harry nods and doesn't respond. Zayn looks at him, and then shakes his head. 

"Have fun with your code," he says, and turns on his heel to walk out the door. Harry sits, dumbstruck, and watches him go. 

All in all, it's not how he'd expected their reunion to happen. He'd thought there'd be less anger, first of all, and definitely some tears on his end. He'd been hoping for a kiss or two, but now when he thinks about it he feels like a complete idiot. Of course it's not going to be as easy as saying a few sweet things. He's going to have to work at it. 

He sighs, turning back to his console and finding his place again. He'll have to fix this first, of course. 

\--- 

It's not something Harry's proud of, but he avoids Zayn for the next few days. He doesn't speak to him when they're both in command and they don't sit together in the mess hall. Zayn's ring still sits heavy in the pocket of Harry's flight suit, seeming heavier every time they're in the same place. He doesn't go to the observation deck at all, knowing Zayn's sure to be there. 

It's not until the end of the week that he can't take it anymore, and when he sees Zayn sitting alone at the mess, he walks over to him, fishing the ring out of his pocket and dropping it on the table in front of Zayn once he's there. 

Zayn looks at the ring for a moment and reaches slowly to pick it up, turning it over in his hands, much like Harry had done when he found it. 

He looks up at Harry so suddenly that it startles him. "You had it this whole time?" Zayn asks. His tone lacks any accusatory tone, and Harry relaxes a bit, shaking his head. 

"No, found it when I got back. On the bed, stuck between the wall." 

"Right," Zayn says, looking up at him and then down at the ring again. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Harry responds, backing away. It's not much, but it's a start. 

\--- 

Two days later, he finds a banana on his console, yellow and perfect. He traces the edge of it before looking over at Zayn, who's staring intently at his own screen. 

Harry looks back down at the banana and smiles. 

\--- 

After that, Harry figures it's just a matter of time before he's able to get Zayn alone and talk to him. He starts actively seeking him out -- sitting with him in the mess, walking with him in corridors, asking him useless questions during their time in command -- and while Zayn responds well enough, he still seems hesitant to spend too much time with him, and always turns down any explicit invitations to spend time together alone. 

Harry takes it in stride, figuring that he's just not given it enough time. 

"Sure," Louis says, once Harry explains the whole thing to him during one of their late night snack sessions. "Or he's waiting for you to like, take action." 

Harry narrows his eyes at him. "What?" 

"Well," Louis says slowly, spinning in his chair. "You told him all that sappy shit about how you'd chase him and blah blah blah, so what if he's waiting for that? Like, for you to prove you meant it." 

"I came back," Harry says, frowning. "That's not enough?" 

"Not for someone like Zayn," Louis sing-songs, and Harry reaches out, stopping his chair. 

"I hate that you're so smart," he says, ruffling Louis' hair when he grins smugly. 

"You love me!" Louis calls as Harry runs out of the room. 

He makes his way up to the observation deck as quickly as he can. It's late enough that Zayn'll probably be there, but not so late that he'll be asleep on one of the benches. 

Zayn's there when Harry enters the room, sitting in their usual spot on the benches and staring out the window. He looks lost in thought, more faraway than Harry's ever seen him, so he approaches cautiously, taking a seat next to him. 

"Hi," he says quietly, smiling nervously when Zayn turns to look at him. 

"Wondered when you'd come," Zayn says, and Harry can't help but feel hopeful at that. 

“Suppose I’m predictable,” he says, giving Zayn a shy smile. Zayn looks back for a moment, searching for something in Harry’s face before he finally speaks. 

“I thought you’d taken my ring,” he blurts. Harry blinks, taken by surprise. There’s nothing accusatory in Zayn’s tone; he doesn’t make it sound as if he thinks Harry lied to him about where he found it or anything, so Harry’s not too worried. He’s hesitant, though, with his next words. 

“Yeah?” He nudges Zayn’s shoulder gently with his own. “Thought I wanted a reminder?” 

Zayn shakes his head. “Thought you just wanted to take a piece of me with you.” 

The bluntness of it feels like a punch to the chest. “Oh,” Harry says, unsure of how to continue. 

“I know you didn’t, though, now.” Zayn waves a hand around. “I suppose it was sort of, like. When you left I was so -- so fucking mad, and hurt and I just -- The only thing that helped me get through it was to stay mad, like. Let myself be angry instead of being sad or whatever.” 

Well that’s -- Harry supposes that’s understandable. It hurts to hear it, to know for a fact that he hurt Zayn, but he gets it. And he’d rather hear it now than later or not at all. He opens his mouth to respond but Zayn shakes his head again. 

“No, no, let me -- I got lost in it, y’know? All that anger. I let it skew what I thought.” He pauses, pressing his lips together before continuing quietly, “I did the same thing when my family died.” 

“Zayn,” Harry says, but Zayn shakes his head again. Harry knows this is important, and it’s only because he knows he’d piss Zayn off if he spoke over him that he stays quiet. 

“But you gave the ring back,” Zayn says eventually, “And you were so -- ” He laughs, and it sounds watery, like he might cry, and Harry’s chest tightens up. “You were so honest. You’ve always been so honest with me and I took it for granted.” He stops, takes a deep breath. “I was mad because I’d opened myself up to you and it felt a bit like you were throwing it in my face, by leaving. But you made me realize the only reason I’d opened up at all is because I trusted you. You didn’t take anything I didn’t give you, y’know?” 

Harry swallows around the lump that’s formed in his throat, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He knows it’s difficult for Zayn to tell him this, probably just as difficult as it is for Harry to sit and listen to it, but it’s necessary. He feels like it needs to happen. They can’t fix everything if they don’t know the problem. 

“I tried not to,” he says, “I tried to be as patient as I could. I -- The last thing I’d ever want is for you to feel like I took advantage.” 

“I don’t feel that way, babe,” Zayn says gently, nudging Harry with his shoulder. “I don’t feel like that at all.” 

"I missed you so much," he says, reaching out to put a hand on Zayn's thigh. "I know I left and I know I said some terrible things, but -- It was the wrong choice. I know that. I shouldn't have left. I -- I'm sorry." 

Zayn doesn't answer for a long time, just sits quietly, his gaze flickering from Harry's face to the view outside. Harry can only imagine what he's thinking about and hope that an apology is something that’ll help. Harry doesn’t know what else he can do or say, really. He knows one apology doesn’t change the fact that he left and that he hurt Zayn, but hopefully it’ll ease whatever’s left. 

"I'm sorry too," he says eventually, and Harry nearly collapses with relief. "You weren't being unreasonable. You -- You're the first person I've loved in a long time, and it -- it hurt, to know you'd still go back anyway. But it wasn't fair of me to ask you to stay." 

Harry smiles and scoots closer on the bench. It relieves him so much to hear that, not because he'd thought he was right, but because Zayn's being honest with him, which means he still trusts him and if he still trusts him, he might just still love him. 

"Thank you for saying that," Harry murmurs, squeezing Zayn's thigh. "And I -- I still love you, if we're being honest. I didn't stop just because I left." 

"Yeah." Zayn looks at him, puts his hand over Harry's and squeezes. "Me either." 

Harry laughs and it sounds watery, giving away the fact that he's about five seconds from tears. Happy tears, though. Good tears. He almost can't believe it was this easy. Though, he supposes they have other things to work out. They're on the right track though, definitely, and that's enough to let Harry turn his hand in Zayn's and link their fingers, leaning his head on Zayn's shoulder as they look out at the Earth. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. 

\--- 

_four months later_

“Okay, you’ve got to be really careful when you’re walking, alright? The gravity’s really different,” Harry warns, extending a hand for Zayn as he walks down the steps of the return vessel. Zayn laughs and takes the hand, smiling fondly at Harry as he steps off smoothly. Whatever. Harry’s not bitter about it. 

“Not the first time I’ve done this babe, but thank you,” Zayn says, linking their fingers and keeping Harry close. He’s nervous, Harry knows. He spent most of the trip home jiggling his knee and tapping his fingers on the armrest, only stopping when Harry put an arm around his shoulders and let him lean in. 

It was a rough couple of months at the start, when Harry first came back. They struggled a lot, having the same arguments over and over again -- Zayn wanted to stay permanently on the station, Harry didn’t, etc -- both of them unwilling to change until finally they realized it wasn’t going to work out if they didn’t do something differently. They’d both agreed to compromise, deciding that they’d spend the majority of their time on the station and all holiday time on the ground with Harry’s family. 

There’s a moment when Anne’s picking them up from the and has just stepped out of the bone crushing hug she’d given Harry and looks at Zayn. Harry sees Zayn goes tense and then even more so when Anne wraps him up in a hug as well. It’s been at least five years since Zayn’s hugged his own mother, and even though Harry’s told him that Anne’s very fond of him, it still must be bittersweet and nerve wracking. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and Zayn’s shoulders relax enough that he hugs back, awkwardly patting at Anne’s shoulders. It’s cute and warms Harry’s heart right up to see it. To see Zayn making an effort even though it’s probably difficult. 

“The same to you,” he says eventually, and when he pulls away and returns to Harry, he’s got a small smile on his face, a real one. Harry leans over and kisses the side of his head, just because he can. 

“You ready?” he asks, squeezing Zayn’s hand. Zayn looks back up at him, eyes shining with something Harry can’t define, something big and important that makes Harry’s heart expand in his chest. He almost can’t believe they made it. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, squeezing Harry’s hand back. “I’m ready.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! (and now that it's been revealed [come talk to me on tumblr!](http://jessimond.tumblr.com))


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